


Wouldn't It Be Good

by orphan_account



Category: Eyewitness (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9387029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He can't have Philip, or be like Philip, because he has to be Lukas Waldenbeck. The kid who makes his dad proud, and loves girls, and not the kid who kissed a boy behind a closed door andlikedit.Or: Philip and Lukas meet when they're eight years old and fall in love. The rest of life isn't that easy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This took hella long to write. I think I lost hair. I hope it was worth it. Title from this song right [here!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AYMAtbq0bjY) It's the ultimate Lukas song.
> 
> Additional warnings: mentions of Anne's addiction and some tension between Bo and Lukas.

In a Sunday school class of only ten kids, a new addition is obvious.

Especially when that addition has to stand at the front of the room, clearly not dressed in his Sunday best, and tell everyone his name, how old he is, and where he’s from.

His name is Philip, and he’s the smallest looking kid that Lukas has ever seen. If Philip didn’t say he was eight, then Lukas would have guessed five. Maybe it’s ‘cause his clothes are too big, and his hair is too long for his face.

Philip doesn’t look up, eyes glued to his feet.

Lukas doesn’t look away.

He wants to be friends with him, because Lukas doesn’t have many in this class, but that’s only if Philip wants to be friends.

Philip doesn’t say a word to anybody, so Lukas guesses he must like being left alone.

Next Sunday, Philip is there, still in a too-big jacket and too-shabby jeans. He doesn’t sing the songs that they’re required to sing, but he does take two of the cookies that get passed out, shoving them into his pocket.

The Sunday after that, Philip somehow finds a way to look smaller. Like somebody put him in the dryer too long, and now he’s shrunk. He still doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t sing, and for some reason Lukas still can’t look away.

It’s because he’s weird, he tells himself. People like to look at weird things.

When class is let out, Lukas waits outside the church for his dad to say goodbye to all the other adults. Philip is there too, waiting for something, or somebody, his head down and his hands deep in his pockets.

Then after a few minutes, Philip looks down the street, takes a deep breath, and starts to walk.

Lukas immediately looks around, for an adult, any adult, for somebody to yell at Philip and stop him. Kids aren’t allowed to walk alone, everyone knows that. He’s gonna get in trouble, or hurt, and Lukas doesn’t know him but he doesn’t want him in trouble or hurt, so he chases after him, despite the fact that he might get in trouble or hurt, too.

“Hey,” he calls out, finally catching up with him, grabbing Philip by the arm. It’s kinda scary how small his arm feels, how easily Lukas’ hand fits around it. “Hey, wait!”

Philip is tense as he quickly turns around, looking at Lukas’ hand, and then up up up to meet his eyes. He continues his silence, keeps his lips closed.

“You’re Philip, right?”

Philip stares, and his eyes are brown, and they’re kinda nice when he doesn’t have hair in his face. “Right.”

His voice is quiet, and shy, and something Lukas immediately wants to hear more of.

“Are you walking home alone?”

Philip shrugs, and it’s then that Lukas realizes he’s still touching him. Philip feels weird, just as much as he looks.

“If I have to.”

“Do you live far?” Lukas asks, finally moving his eyes away from Philip’s, looking down the street instead.

Philip shrugs again.

“My dad can give you a ride, if you want.”

Instead of giving another shrug, Philip hunches his shoulders, tucks his chin against his chest, and says all quiet and scared, “It’s okay.”

He remembers the main rule, the one his dad and his mom instilled in him as soon as he could speak - don’t get into a car with a stranger.

“I’m - I’m Lukas,” he says, but doesn’t offer his hand because Philip doesn’t seem like the kind of kid to shake hands. But now they aren’t strangers, so now Philip can say yes. “My dad will be out in a sec.”

Philip keeps looking at his feet. “I don’t know my address.”

“What’re your parents’ names? My dad probably knows them.”

“He doesn’t. It’s okay. I can walk,” Philip says automatically, and abruptly turns, and begins to walk away.

Lukas feels too shocked to chase him again.

-

When school starts, Philip is also in Lukas’ third grade class.

Philip Shea is his full name, which Lukas learns when they have to decorate name tags for their desks on the first day of school. He’s kinda impressed that Philip can spell his whole name perfectly, because sometimes he messes up on his.

Nobody wants to be Philip Shea’s cubby buddy, and Lukas knows he shouldn’t want to be either, because Philip Shea is weird, but he raises his hand anyway and says, “I will.”

Because he does want to.

“You know, if you talked more, maybe you’d have more friends,” Lukas tells him, at recess in the cubby room.

Philip is just as quiet as he was when they met. “I don’t need friends.”

Which is a weird response, so Lukas starts to laugh. “What? Everyone needs friends.”

“Not me.”

“Why?”

Philip shrugs one tiny shoulder. “I have my mom.”

Lukas laughs even harder, because that’s even weirder. “Your mom is your only friend?”

Philip says nothing, doesn’t move, doesn’t blink.

So Lukas kinda feels bad. Really bad. It just makes him want to be Philip’s friend even more, so he makes his voice sound more nice, and offers Philip a smile. “Well you can eat lunch with me, if you want, at my desk.”

Philip raises one faint eyebrow, giving Lukas a long, hard look, but eventually says, “Thanks.”

Except, Philip doesn’t even have a lunch. Which is another weird thing about Philip that Lukas files away.

He never has a lunch.

But Lukas is learning that he almost likes the weird things about Philip. Lukas has been living in this town all his life and everyone is always the same.

Maybe weird isn’t that bad.

-

Philip is always quiet. He tells Lukas, away from everyone else on the playground, that it’s because he just likes to listen.

Which is great for Lukas, ‘cause he has tons to say.

It’s just that whenever he tries saying anything, it’s always followed by a smack to the back of his head, and his father saying, “Nobody wants to hear you, kid.”

Philip never looks like he doesn’t want to be listening to Lukas, though.

So eventually, Lukas talks.

-

He’s just about to board the school bus when he notices something by the bike rack - Philip’s school bag.

With no Philip in sight.

Then he hears yelling, and then he hears Philip’s voice sounding much louder than it should be.

Philip is never loud.

It sounds like he’s being hurt.

And that’s just not something Lukas can let happen, so he starts running, despite the fact that the bus will probably leave without him. He runs and turns the corner to where the yelling is coming from, and sees two kids from the fifth grade backing Philip against a wall.

Lukas doesn’t do this. He sees kids getting bullied all the time. As long as it’s not him, he’s fine with it.

He can’t be fine with this. Not when his friend Philip is crying, shrinking in on himself against the brick wall, as the two older boys shove at him and call him names. One boy says, “I heard your mom’s a druggie.” and the other boy laughs and says, “You must be one, too.”

Lukas doesn’t know what to do, but he does know one thing - Philip is way, way too small to be shoved like that.

Feeling braver and bigger than he is, even though he doesn’t want the fifth graders to hate him, he doesn’t want Philip hurt, so he takes a step forward and shouts, “Leave him alone!”

The boys laugh, and they start to take steps towards Lukas instead, and Lukas has never been in this position, he has never been hated before. It’d be easy to just let Philip be the one who’s hated, but he can’t do that, because Philip doesn’t deserve that, so instead of ignoring it, he runs straight at the two boys.

He’s smaller, but he’s madder, so he must be scarier, because the two older boys first start laughing, and then they start running, all while yelling, “Freaks!” over their shoulders.

Lukas is breathless by the end of it, and he actually almost completely forgot about Philip, is only reminded when he hears his loud, shuddery breath.

Then he turns around, and feels all the anger seep from him. “Are you - are you okay?” he pants, heart hammering in his chest.

Philip is shaking even more, small and huddled close to the wall, but in the blink of an eye, he’s running right at Lukas, throwing his arms around him, hugging him in a way Lukas has never been hugged before.

Lukas takes a second before he hugs back, because suddenly he feels weird.

Maybe it’s not Philip who’s weird. It’s just the way he makes Lukas _feel_.

It’s -

Weird.

-

After that, he doesn’t let Philip walk to the school bus alone anymore.

He gets off the bus with him, too, until they’re as close to Philip’s house as Philip will allow them.

Then Lukas walks all the way back to his family’s farm, even though it takes an hour. His dad is too busy to notice, anyways.

As long as Philip never has to walk home alone again.

-

If Philip shows up for five consecutive days of school, it’s considered a miracle.

If Philip isn’t late for class, then -

Well, Lukas doesn’t know, because Philip is always late for class.

He comes in usually right before recess, looking tired, with his binder shoved under one arm and his backpack slung over one shoulder, a muttered excuse to their teacher about why he’s late.

It’s always the same - “I missed the bus.”

Lukas knows that’s not the reason.

He doesn’t ask questions though, and just lets Philip copy his homework, or whatever else he missed.

He’s learned to never ask questions, and to just provide his own answers. Philip rarely has a lunch, and when he does it’s usually a granola bar, a peanut butter sandwich, something simple.

Instead of asking why, Lukas starts to pack double, to share with Philip.

You never really think about the kids without food until you have to share with them.

Then it’s all you can think about.

-

People call him weird for hanging out with Philip, and Lukas might care, but he knows Philip is weird too, and he doesn’t mind that.

He likes Philip.

A lot.

Sometimes so much that the hours between school finishing and school starting are the longest of Lukas’ life. The days that Philip doesn’t show up at school are miserable.

Philip misses two days in a row, which is sort of weird, so Lukas grabs his homework for him and decides to drop it off. Over the past year Philip’s started to let him get closer and closer to his house, so now Lukas is fairly certain which one it is.

It’s a small little house, with a broken bench outside of it, and old dead plants in the garden.

It sort of looks how Philip looks, Lukas thinks, as he gets closer to the door and begins to knock.

Philip is the one to answer, which shocks him for a second, because adults are supposed to answer.

“Lukas?” Philip yelps, and quickly moves to close the door more, until it’s only his face showing. “What are you doing here?”

“I - I came to drop off your homework,” Lukas says, trying hard not to peer over Philip’s head. “If you fail then you can’t come to grade four with me, you know.”

Philip’s expression never relaxes, more stern and cold than any nine year old Lukas has ever met. “Thanks.”

Before Lukas can take off his backpack, there’s another voice being added to the mix, much softer and sweeter.

“Philip, honey, who is it?” somebody asks from behind the door, and even though Philip moves to shut it, it’s being opened anyways, and then there’s a tall, thin woman who looks much too young to be Philip’s mom standing there.

“H-hi -” Lukas says, because he thinks he should say it.

The woman beams at him, the brightest smile ever given to Lukas, and steps out of the door to shake both his hands. “Hi! You must be Lukas!”

Lukas’ eyes dart to Philip’s, looking for some sort of reassurance, looking for guidance. Philip just looks cold and hard, maybe even a bit scared.

“Yeah,” he says, and then smiles at Philip’s mom.

“Thank you for always walking Philip home,” she says, calm and gentle as she tucks her hair behind her ears, crouching down low to be level with Lukas. “It means a lot.”

Lukas looks back to Philip, and Philip’s mom follows his gaze, her smile widening as she pulls Philip out by the hand. “It means a lot to Philip, too.”

He doesn’t know what to say back, even when Philip’s face finally relaxes. Philip’s mom - she doesn’t look normal, and Lukas knows she isn’t normal from all the secrets Philip’s whispered to him, but she sounds normal.

Normal, nice, kind and inviting.

Everything that a mom should be.

“Do you want to come in? I’m making dinner.”

Philip then finally speaks up, stepping forward and putting a hand on Lukas’ chest, pushing him back, saying, “No, mom, Lukas has to -”

Lukas should listen to Philip, instead of this awful sense of longing for something normal, but he doesn’t, and interrupts Philip by saying, “Sure, what are you having?”

Philip’s mom smiles, and shares a glance with Philip. “Breakfast for dinner. Philip’s favourite.”

Philip looks down at his feet, and when they go inside, he’s quick to turn on the TV, sit down, and ignore Lukas.

It’s a tiny little house, barely enough room for two people. Lukas is used to miles and miles to walk, run, and bike down. It’s weird.

There’s also an ashtray on the coffee table, filled to the brim, and soda cans strewn about. It also smells like smoke, and it’s also really cold, and it’s not dirty but it’s not clean, either.

It still feels like a home.

They help Philip’s mom cook the bacon, and Philip is quick to stand in front of the fridge when his mom opens it, and any brightness to his expression is swapped out with grey after that.

It’s nice though. He can’t remember the last time he actually got a chance to talk at a dinner table - or, well, a coffee table, because Philip’s house doesn’t have a dining table.

Philip’s mom calls his dad for him, and Philip walks him outside to wait, and Lukas doesn’t really want to leave.

“Sorry you had to see that,” Philip mumbles once the front door is closed.

Lukas frowns. “Why? Your mom’s a good cook.”

Philip assumes his natural position - head down, hands in his pockets. “Just . . . don’t tell anyone?”

He doesn’t understand what’s to tell or not tell, but he nods anyways, and gives Philip a hug before his dad comes.

When he gets home, he’s greeted by space, by neatly arranged furniture, by a complete dining set just waiting to be used.

A fridge full of food.

That’s when he realizes exactly what Philip was talking about.

-

His dad notices one morning, when Lukas is making lunch, that he packs it into two separate bags.

“Are you trying to gain weight for the winter, son? Why do you need two?”

Lukas’ spine goes straight, his jaw tense, and he says in his most sincere tone, “Uh, there’s just this kid at school, he doesn’t usually have lunch.”

His dad stares at him knowingly, raising Lukas’ heart rate. “This Philip kid?”

“Yeah.”

“Well that’s awfully kind of you, but it’s not your job, or mine, to be feeding another kid.”

Lukas looks down at his feet, and despite his fear of his father, he keeps that sincere tone warm and strong. “I’m sorry, dad. You can take it out of my allowance.”

His dad ignores him and instead asks, “What’s his full name?”

Full names are never good. Full names are what the secretaries use when they’re calling Philip down to the office in the middle of class.

Lukas’ eyes go wide and he lets his tone falter, lets his fear show as he gasps out, “W-why?”

His dad’s eyes are hard, his voice even harder. “I might have to call your school about this.”

“No, no, don’t - don’t do that, please,” he begs, because he’s not an idiot, he knows exactly what his dad means by it. “I’ll stop. I promise.”

Except he doesn’t stop.

As long as Philip doesn’t have a lunch, Lukas will bring him one.

He just gets more sneaky about it.

-

When they’re eleven years old, something happens that makes Lukas suddenly feel twenty. He understands in a heartbeat the way Philip must feel, understands why Philip’s shoulders are always slumped - he’s carrying the weight of somebody else’s world.

His mom’s world.

And when his mom’s world crashes, so does Philip’s.

The school youth worker comes directly to their classroom door and asks for Philip. No overhead announcements. Just hushed voices and scared looks and Philip rising from his desk like he already knows.

Lukas finds out the next day that Philip’s mom, with her kind voice and gentle hands and amazing cooking skills, overdosed.

His dad sits him down on the couch that same night and talks about drugs with him. Apparently the school sent out an email asking for parents to talk to their kids about it.

But who’s gonna talk to Philip?

Philip doesn’t come back to school for a whole week, and Lukas is waiting for him, and Lukas doesn’t know what to say or do or if he can make it better, so he just tries to be himself. When Philip walks into the classroom and every pair of eyes land on him, and the whispers start, and the laughter ignites, Lukas knows normalcy is exactly what Philip needs.

Except maybe this is a bit weird, because nobody else would do this for Philip. Out on the small track field behind the school, Lukas sits him down on the grass and shares his lunch with him and asks, “Are you okay?”

Philip is picking at the grass, biting hard at his lip, and Lukas expects the usual answer - _of course._

Instead Philip shakes his head, and admits so small and quiet, “I’m really tired, Lukas.”

Lukas nods, and against his better judgement, reaches out to push back the lock of hair that is always in Philip’s face.

“Maybe you should sleep,” he says, still touching him.

Philip snorts out his breath, and glances back at the school. “Lunch will be over soon.”

“I can wake you up when the bell rings.”

Philip continues to look at him weird, nervous, anxious, but he leans further into the curve of Lukas’ hand, and actually shuts his eyes.

Maybe it’s five minutes, maybe it’s ten, Lukas doesn’t know. He just knows they’re the most peaceful of his life, because in those five-to-ten minutes, Philip doesn’t have to carry the weight of any world.

-

After that, Lukas never wants Philip to go back home, because now he knows for sure what happens inside of it.

Philip’s mom is sick, and Philip isn’t a doctor.

Philip is just a kid, just like him, and Lukas doesn’t know how to fix his problems and he hardly understands them, but he knows how to be a kid, so he shows Philip.

He invites him to the farm, and Philip looks at all the space and trees and hills with his eyes wide and his smile bright. They ride bikes everywhere that they can, racing each other through the trees. They chase chickens when their legs are sore from riding, and when they get bored of that they have rock skipping competitions. Anything they can do that isn’t serious, that doesn’t have a life depending on it, doesn’t have their feet in shoes much too big.

Now that they’re twelve, Lukas is allowed to ride his bike anywhere, as long as he tells his dad where he’s going.

It’s always Philip’s house.

It’s always Lukas giving Philip a ride home, with Philip on the back of his bike. At first he pedals quickly, but the closer they get, the more he slows down.

It’s always dark when they get there, every star visible in the sky, the air cold against their arms. Most of the time Lukas’ dad has to come pick him up to take him home.

Lukas just never wants to leave him.

And, judging by the way Philip has a death grip around his stomach as they ride, he doesn’t want to, either.

So when one night, on one of the many nights that Lukas’ dad is called to come and get him, Lukas’ dad takes one glance at the small, rickety house, that is home to two starving and desperate people, and says, “I don’t think you should be hanging around that boy anymore.” -

Lukas actually swears.

He gets grounded for a week because of it, but he’d do it again.

Because no.

 _No_.

Lukas is friends with nearly everyone in school, but Philip is the only one that matters.

Lukas needs Philip.

And Philip needs an escape from starvation.

So Lukas keeps saying no, and for the first time in his life, he denies his father.

-

A lot of things happen when he turns thirteen.

He grows about a foot, he’s guessing, because he’s the tallest kid in his grade, maybe even the school.

His dad gets him a dirt bike, and signs him up for the beginner’s circuit. It takes up a lot of his time, almost all of his time.

It’s usually either eat dinner, do his homework, or see Philip.

It’s almost always Philip.

Even though when he turns thirteen, Philip gets even weirder. And Lukas feels even weirder about him.

Philip is still the shortest boy in their grade, maybe even in the school, and he talks a lot less now, but he’s angrier even more.

One day Lukas finds him kicking the crap out of the vending machine, looking so tiny next to it. When kicking doesn’t work, he resorts to punches, to yelling, to tirelessly thumping his fists against the glass and crying, “Stupid - hate this - so stupid -”

“Philip, Philip -” Lukas calls out, running down the hall to him. “What the hell are you doing? You’re gonna get detention.”

Philip keeps hitting the vending machine, face curled into a snarl, cheeks coloured red. “The stupid machine ate all of my money -”

Even though there are people watching, and even though Lukas knows he shouldn’t, he reaches out and wraps his hands around Philip’s frail arms. “Chill out, dude,” he says, surprised when Philip continues to fight against him. “I’ll get it.”

“It’s not the same!” Philip shouts, and it’s scary hearing him so loud, when Lukas is so used to secrets.

“Stop it,” he warns, through clenched teeth, trying even harder to keep Philip’s arms down. “You’re being a freak.”

At that, Philip stills, and whirls his head around to face Lukas, too-long curls falling over his forehead. He says, gravely and hurt, “Shut up.”

In all their years together, Philip has never once been angry at Lukas. It sinks something in Lukas’ chest and stomach, makes him feel wrong.

So Lukas thinks that maybe Philip isn’t really mad at him, but somebody else.

“What happened?” he asks calmly, finally removing his hands.

Philip’s mouth is still twisted wrong, his breath continues to churn out of him angrily, but his voice is quiet as he mutters, “Nothing.”

Lukas has met this wall before, run face-first into it so many times he’s been hurt by it, but now he knows how to get around it. He holds out his pinky, and steps closer to Philip. “I promise I won’t laugh.”

Philip’s eyes glance at the offered pinky, then back to the machine, seeming to contemplate something. Then he’s turning, sighing, and hooking their pinkies together.

“My mom’s boyfriend keeps bugging me. If he finds out I wasted the money my mom gave me, he’ll kill me.”

Lukas swallows down the roughness in his throat, the sudden nerves that gather there now that they’re touching like this in the hallway, with other people watching.

Still he asks, because Philip almost never talks to him, “The asshole one?”

“Yeah,” Philip mumbles, casting his eyes to the ground. “He’s over all the time now. I never even get to see my mom.”

Lukas isn’t sure what to say, mostly because, well, Philip never talks. “Sorry,” is what he eventually breathes out, still holding Philip’s pinky.

“I hate being home,” is what Philip breathes back.

The idea hits him, lights him up from the inside, sounds like such a good idea he can’t believe he didn’t think it sooner. “You could stay at my house.”

Philip finally looks up, brown eyes wide and hopeful. “But your - your dad.”

Lukas shrugs. “We just won’t tell.”

-

He’s not technically allowed to give people rides on his bike, because he wipes out sometimes.

Philip is the only one brave enough to get on anyways, so Lukas thinks it’s fine.

They race around the yard until the sun goes down, and when Philip tightens his arms around Lukas and rests his head against his back, Lukas knows he can’t take Philip home yet.

They park the bike by a pond, and because there’s no one else around, because there’s not even a star out to judge them or call them weird, Lukas lets Philip sit right next to him.

When Philip starts to shiver, Lukas even gives him his jacket, shielding it over both his small shoulders.

“Do you ever wish you had a different mom?” he asks.

Philip’s head doesn’t budge from where it’s resting against Lukas’ shoulder. “No, I just wish she didn’t love drugs so much.”

Lukas nods. “Me too.”

It’s quiet again, just Philip’s shallow breathing filling up the night, which is all Lukas wants to hear, anyway.

“. . . I’m in trouble, Lukas.”

It’s the immediate crack to Philip’s voice, the horror and fear that’s suddenly clear in every word, that has Lukas looking down at Philip, has his own heart matching that horror.

“What? No you aren’t, ‘cause I’m not gonna tell anyone you’re here.”

Philip is crying. Even in the dark, Lukas can see that. He’s shaking too, as he reaches into his pocket and pulls something out.

“Because I stole this,” he says, voice wrecked and lips trembling, showing Lukas a thing of pills in a plastic container. “I just - wanted it to stop for one night.”

Lukas’ reaction is quick, like he knows exactly what to do the second he sees the pills - he grabs the container, stands up and runs to the edge of the pond, and without another thought he tosses it, far out into the dark water.

When he turns around, Philip is standing right behind him, so small under Lukas’ too-big jacket, so terrified but so relieved. It does something weird to Lukas’ heart again.

He licks his lips, feels for Philip’s arms, has to pull him closer because that’s what feels right when Philip looks at him like that.

“Just - blame it on me,” he says, not caring about the repercussions for once in his life.

Philip nods, and sniffles back tears, and finds his place against Lukas’ chest.

In the back of his mind, where all of Lukas’ bad thoughts go (the ones he thinks the most), Lukas sort of hopes that he always stays bigger than Philip, because it feels nice protecting something smaller.

-

If Lukas thought thirteen was weird, fourteen is even weirder.

It’s also just so - confusing. His own name doesn’t even sound right anymore, can’t be him, because who even is he?

All he knows is that Philip isn’t like other kids. He knew this ever since he first met him, but being fourteen, his differences become stark and scary, such a contrast from the boys Lukas usually hangs out with.

He knows also, that if he keeps hanging around Philip, then he’s gonna become more and more like him.

Weirder.

Every other guy talks about three things and three things only: girls, parties, and video games.

Lukas wants to talk about all those things, but he doesn’t, because Philip never does, either.

It’s stupid. He should be talking about girls. He wants to talk about them. He’s just - he’s never done it before.

But when Anthony starts talking about making out with Heather at her birthday party, and when Jessica Reynold’s ass becomes a popular conversation topic in his friend group, Lukas knows he’s screwed, and probably too weird to come back from.

‘Cause he really doesn’t care about any of that.

He cares about the way Philip looks when he’s smiling, and he really, _really_ cares about the way his lips curve around the straw of his juice box.

He shouldn’t though, because that’s weird, and not right. If it were right, then everybody would care about that, but they don’t. It’s just Lukas.

So he starts to push him away, as far as he can. Philip just doesn’t understand that he’s weird and that Lukas can’t be, and Philip doesn’t understand that it’s not okay to wrap his hands around Lukas’ elbow or stand right next to him in the hallways at school. It’s only okay when they’re alone.

“Get lost, freak,” he snarls, pushing too hard at Philip, feeling all his frail bones nearly snap under his hands.

Philip stumbles back, but it works, because he never comes back for more.

After school that day, away from all the other kids and teachers and anybody who could be watching, Lukas pulls Philip around the corner and swears to him, “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it.”

He really didn’t.

Philip doesn’t look like he believes him.

-

He knows he’s not right. He can’t be.

He doesn’t imagine any other friend like this. He doesn’t miss any other friend as bad when they skip a day of school.

No other friend has his heart racing when he sees them. No other friend holds his every thought captive until he falls asleep.

It just can’t happen. All these thoughts just need to go away, go far, never resurface, they shouldn’t even exist.

Philip did this to him. It’s his fault. Philip and his dumb smile and his dumb eyes and the way he just - the way he -

Lukas is not weird. It’s who Philip is but it’s not who he is and he refuses.

It just can’t happen.

-

There’s a million things they could be doing that they shouldn’t be doing.

Smoking the pack of cigarettes that Philip is always carrying around, or drinking something from his dad’s unlocked liquor cabinet.

Instead they’re doing this, the thing that Lukas knows above all else they should not be doing.

Kissing.

And what’s worse is that Lukas started it. He reached forward with his own hands and made his own decision and pulled Philip closer to him until Philip was closer than he’s ever been.

It started off the way conversations between two boys should start - about girls.

“Lucy from English class, you know, the pretty one? Guess who she has a crush on,” Lukas says, as he flips a page of the motocross magazine they’re reading together, both sitting on the floor of his bedroom.

Philip doesn’t even look up as he mutters, “Let me guess - you?”

Lukas laughs, nods, says, “Yeah. Should I ask her out?”

“Go for it,” Philip replies, still not looking up, sounding bored.

Lukas wishes he knew why that feels like a kick to the chest. He ignores the pain, but presses on the topic, because Philip never, ever talks about girls, or crushes.

“What about you? Do you like anybody?”

Finally moving, tilting his head up and looking at Lukas, Philip frowns and thinks for a second.

“Not like Lucy.”

Lukas has to swallow, feels like coughing, ‘cause suddenly there’s something stuck in his throat. Could be his heart. Could be this ball of knowledge that’s been sitting low in his chest all this time, finally trying to break out.

“Who?”

Philip looks down, flips a page in the magazine, shrugs one shoulder and says, “It’s stupid.”

“What?” Lukas laughs, bumping his side into Philip’s. “You gotta tell me. I’m your best friend!”

The second that Philip’s body goes tense, Lukas can feel it, and his heart starts to skip with fear when Philip pulls away from his side.

“You won’t be if I tell you,” Philip says shamefully, putting more distance between them.

Lukas laughs again, to increase the ease in the room, because suddenly it feels too hot and too stuffy. He reaches over and shoves at Philip’s side again, instigating a fight, pressing all the spots that he knows are weak points on Philip’s body until the room is filled with Philip’s laughter.

“Come on, dude, just tell me,” he says, breathless, his own laughter escaping him as his hands skate across Philip’s ribs.

“No, you can’t - make me -” Philip gasps, between hiccuping laughs, between shoving Lukas back.

“I promise I won’t tell.” He holds up his pinky for emphasis, grinning as open as he can at Philip. “Just tell me who.”

Philip stares back, doesn’t even look at Lukas’ hand, just stares at his eyes, and second by second his rapid breathing slows, slows, until the tense-hot-loud room is nothing but silence.

“You.”

It’s said so quiet, a whisper, and if Lukas weren’t so close to Philip’s face then maybe he wouldn’t have heard it, but he does.

Somehow he knew that was the answer.

He should avert his gaze, look everywhere but Philip, or push Philip back and never let him close again, but nothing in Lukas wants to do that.

Instead he finds Philip’s hand on the carpet, closes his over it, and says, “Yeah, I don’t really like Lucy.”

_Not when there’s you._

He doesn’t say that though, because his mouth won’t let him form the words.

Philip nods, and seems to understand. “That’s okay.”

Lukas shrugs. “I mean, I’ve never even - how do I know?”

“You just know.”

“That doesn’t make any sense though.”

“Well do you wanna kiss her?”

Lukas looks into Philip’s brown eyes and says with everything but his words, _never ever ever._

Philip is staring at Lukas’ lips, and Lukas stares back, and it doesn’t feel wrong. What feels wrong is talking about girls like Lucy.

If there’s nobody else watching, and if the door is closed, and if everything they do and feel stays a secret, then it’s gotta be okay, it has to be okay.

Just for one second, let the way he feels about Philip be okay.

_Please?_

His hands are already on him, he doesn’t get a choice, and Philip always moves whichever direction Lukas asks him to, so when Lukas tugs him closer, Philip just goes.

He’s never kissed anybody before, and he guesses neither has Philip, because he gasps right against Lukas’ lips when they kiss and Lukas doesn’t know what to do about that.

This shouldn’t be happening, this isn’t allowed, there are rules in place and there’s a system and there’s a role he has to play and this isn’t it.

He does it anyways, because this is what he wants, more than anything else.

Philip feels even more breakable when they’re kissing, and he feels good, and if Lukas knew what to do then he might pull Philip right against him and put his hands in other places, but Lukas hasn’t kissed before, so he focuses on keeping their lips together and their breathing in sync.

Philip likes him.

Lukas -

Can’t.

It’s with that knowledge, that he can never be what Philip is, because Philip is weird, that Lukas pulls back and pushes Philip away.

Philip is gasping, and his lips are red, and he tries to reach back for Lukas but Lukas _can’t_.

Even though Lukas is gasping too, and his lips crave red.

He never can.

“Sorry,” he says, shocked by how husky his voice sounds, giving his lips a wipe he doesn’t want to give. “That shouldn’t have - sorry.”

Philip looks so lost, eyes wide, wanting, but Lukas can’t tell him where to go or what to do anymore.

Because he doesn’t know.

-

When something is infectious, when something hurts you, when something bad is happening, you stay away from it.

That’s just the natural order of instinct.

Philip is - Philip doesn’t look like any of those things, but he is, he is everything devilish and wrong put into a human body and he makes Lukas feel crazy.

He’s the reason you go to church, the reason you need absolution.

He’s everything Lukas prays for, and prays against.

Lukas has to stay away, before he too becomes something wicked, something that burns.

When freshman year begins, so does the end of their friendship, their secrets. If he stays near Philip then the secret they exchanged with their lips will become public knowledge, and Lukas can’t have the whole town praying for him.

Against him.

Everyone would stay away from Lukas like he’s diseased too, so it has to end.

Lukas has to be normal. He has to get average grades and kick ass at motocross racing and he has to talk about girls and stop imagining his lips against Philip’s.

Philip is weird and always has been and Lukas can’t be.

He stops smiling at him in crowded (and uncrowded) hallways.

He stops walking him home.

He stops looking at him, even when it hurts his eyes to not look.

He has to.

He can’t have Philip, or be like Philip, because he has to be Lukas Waldenbeck. The kid who makes his dad proud, and loves girls, and not the kid who kissed a boy behind a closed door and _liked_ it.

Even if it makes him sick for a bit, he has to inject himself with the vaccination to Philip and Philip’s disease, before it’s too late.

It might just kill him though, more than any sickness ever could, how quickly Philip accepts it, and stops looking back.

-

Then one day, on a day just like any other day, Philip is gone.

No trace of him, or the path of destruction he left behind. No evidence he was ever in Tivoli, or that he was Lukas’ friend, that he was more than that to Lukas.

Philip has disappeared before, two to three days at a time, tops. Never a week.

Lukas didn’t delete his number from his phone like he told himself he had to, but he hasn’t touched it, hasn’t sent a text or made a call to him since before their lips touched. Months now.

_Where are you??_

All day long, all he does is stare at his phone, waiting and ready for that forbidden name to pop up.

It doesn’t.

Lukas thinks about going to his house, but if he sees Philip again with all this stupid want and need in his heart then he’s going to find a way to live there or something. He can’t risk that.

At dinner the next day, Lukas doesn’t even pretend to be interested in his food. His phone sits in his lap, at least a dozen more texts sent to Philip’s number, each climbing the desperation ladder higher and higher, still waiting for that response.

It’s then his dad says, “So I heard that Shea boy finally got taken by social services. It’s a good thing you stopped hanging out with him.”

It’s right after that that Lukas feels like he’s falling.

Because he is.

With nowhere to land.

“What?” he croaks, looking up, letting his disappointment - and not heartbreak, definitely not heartbreak - show. “What does that mean? Is he coming back?”

His dad wrinkles his nose, and takes no note of Lukas’ failing heart. “Lord hopes not.”

Lukas knows this is where he has to be normal, and not weird, so he nods and forces a smile, mumbles out, “Okay. Thanks for dinner, dad.” and keeps trying to live.

When he’s upstairs, alone in his room, this room where their kisses paint the walls, he grabs his phone and sends a million more texts that he knows will never be read.

_Philip come back. you have to come back. Philip please. please._

_please._

-

Philip doesn’t come back, but he is still here, still present, in all of Lukas’ thoughts and memories. Philip is in Lukas’ blood now, he tainted it, made it something not red and lively -

Made it into something much more.

Made Lukas know, no matter how tall he stands, how many friends he has, how many girls he kisses, he’ll always want something he cannot have, be something he cannot be.

He’s good at hiding it though. Philip was the only kid who ever really wanted him to talk, who Lukas even really wanted to talk to, so staying silent is easy. Everything he is (and isn’t) stays locked up inside, and that’s who he becomes, and that becomes his brand.

Staying silent is easy, until some random day during sophomore year, when Philip’s name leaves somebody else’s lips. Lukas can’t stay silent about that.

“Whatever happened to that fag, Shea?” It’s said by one of the kids in his group, and other people laugh, but Lukas can’t, because the hate that umbrellas Philip also covers him, doesn’t it?

“Since when do you care about fags?” Lukas asks, keeping his tone cool and neutral, as if his blood isn’t truly boiling.

“Since when do you?” It’s shouted back, accusing and - knowing.

It’s the wrong decision, and fighting the kid isn’t any better of a decision, but Lukas has to, has to be stronger, more aggressive, has to have everything under control. So he throws a punch, and he doesn’t stop until there are no more fingers pointing at him.

Until that _word_ is as far from him as possible.

-

In junior year, he dates a girl named Rose, and he even convinces himself with his lies.

If you asked him if he was attracted to her, he would say yes.

If you asked him if he was in love with her, he would say yes.

If you asked him if he still thought about Philip Shea’s lips, then he would drop to his knees and beg for it.

But if you asked him if he were gay, he would say no.

-

It’s exhausting, being silent.

Playing a role, acting normal, having to force yourself to enjoy something that every other guy naturally enjoys.

He’s tired of it.

Sucks that it’s the rest of his life. Maybe it’ll get easier.

He thinks that, every day, even the day he goes to school and there’s a new electric buzz in the air, one created by gossip. Lukas feels it the second he steps inside, and feels the usual anxiety that comes with not knowing what’s going on. Rose always knows though, has everyone’s secrets sealed in her mind before they even become public (and maybe that’s why Lukas is so tired, because one slip and she’ll _know_ ), so he asks her.

“What’s up?” he asks, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “What’s everyone talking about?”

She doesn’t look thrilled, like this piece of gossip doesn’t convenience her at all. “Ugh, I don’t even know,” she says, sounding bored as she looks at her phone. “That weird drug kid is back, I think.”

There’s only one kid that could be, and Lukas’ entire body wakens, no longer tired.

“Philip?” he asks instantly, eyes too wide, voice too excited.

“Sure . . ?” Rose says, one eyebrow arched.

Lukas erases his own smile, shrugs a shoulder and thinks of something to say to keep this secret at bay. “Cool, whatever.”

Rose will never know, nobody else will ever know, but every part of Lukas’ existence is on high alert for the rest of the day. His heart never stops racing, he looks at every face in the hallway for that all-too familiar one, searching and searching for him, because he hasn’t ever stopped since he left.

-

Math class is his last class of the day, and it’s also the only class he shares with the ‘weird drug kid’.

Philip walks into class a few minutes late, his shoulders slumped, headphones around his neck, and the only recognizable factor about him is that he still wears a too-big jacket.

Other than that, he’s -

Lukas has been pretending for too long, gotten so good at it, that he doesn’t even blink when Philip sits down two desks in front of him. Though his heart is racing, that’s for sure, ‘cause Philip -

Philip is a lot more grown up, and if Lukas thought his body was awake before, it’s _alive_ now.

But he says nothing, pretends it’s just another kid in his class, and tries his best to not burn holes into the back of Philip’s head with his stare.

He’s just been searching for so long, it’s impossible to not look.

He wants to say something, swap seats with the only person alive separating them so he can tap on Philip’s shoulder and whisper things to him, pass notes, lend him his homework, say something, anything, like friends do.

They aren’t friends though.

Even if he knew what to say to Philip after all these years of searching, he wouldn’t be allowed, because Philip is still weird, and Lukas refuses to be.

So he doesn’t swap seats, and when Philip leaves the class in a rush as soon as the bell rings, Lukas doesn’t follow him. Lukas doesn’t go anywhere near Philip.

It’s about two more weeks of pretending, of keeping his head down whenever he’s sure Philip is looking in his direction, making his eyes focus on Rose instead of Philip when they’re both in his vicinity. Two weeks before all of his pretending all means nothing.

As soon as he walks into the school bathroom and sees Philip standing alone at the sinks, not another soul around, it’s the first moment in three years of pretending that Lukas doesn’t have to.

Whatever he wants to say, he can, but he doesn’t know what.

He decides to go with something normal - “Hey.”

Philip’s back goes straight, but he takes his time to turn away from the mirrors and look at Lukas.

Lukas can see his own reflection, can see the way his chest puffs out because he can’t physically inhale with Philip so close, can see the stupid hope in his stupidly wide eyes, can see his own hand twitching at his side.

Can see how much taller he is than Philip still. Even though Philip is no longer the shortest boy in the school, that’s for sure.

A lot bigger than the little kid Lukas had to protect and hug and -

Philip’s eyes linger somewhere on Lukas’ face, and his eyes are still brown, which for some reason is a relief to Lukas. There’s a good chance he feared he was imagining the wrong colour throughout these years apart.

It’s a relief that there are still familiar parts of a stranger like Philip.

“Hey,” Philip finally says back, eyes darting up and down, then without another breath or glance or moment, he’s stepping around Lukas and heading for the door.

Lukas immediately spins towards him, yelping out, “What? Is that all you’re gonna say?”

Philip doesn’t fully turn around, instead choosing to glare over his shoulder. “What else is there to say?”

Lukas’ hands continue to twitch, the urge to just - do something stupid and touch Philip infecting his every cell. “I - I don’t know.”

Philip exhales heavily, turns and tilts his head back and lowers his eyes on Lukas, and it’s scary being here, like this, with him. So unfamiliar. Lukas was always the one who had to know what to do, had to help, had to have everything figured out.

Now Philip is a stranger who knows everything and Lukas doesn’t.

“Listen, I get it. You don’t have to talk to me now that I’m back.”

“But I - I want to.”

Philip snorts out his laugh, eyebrows drawing close together, seeing right through Lukas’ every infected vein. “Oh, do you?”

It just hurts, all of it, how much he wants, how much he doesn’t know. Did he push him too hard? When he stopped looking at Philip, did Philip really stop looking back? He didn’t mean it. Philip has to know he didn’t mean it.

“Why are you being such an ass?” he asks, instead of all those other questions, because the way Philip’s staring at him confirms everything.

Philip holds his gaze, then breathes harsh through his nose, giving his head a sad shake. “Glad to see you haven’t changed.”

No -

No Lukas has to because he’s been searching and Philip can’t leave because he won’t come back -

“Hey, wait, wait,” Lukas pleads, and grabs at Philip’s shoulder. It takes everything in him to not follow instinct and pull Philip closer. “Come on, just - why are you back? What happened?”

Not small anymore, Philip almost feels strange under Lukas’ hand, but he really doesn’t. Philip stares at Lukas’ hand on him, like he must be thinking the same thing. Then he shrugs, but to Lukas’ continued relief, he doesn’t pull away.

“I got sent away, to live with a nice family in the city.”

“Are you back with your mom now?”

“No.” Philip does pull away then, yanking his shoulder from under Lukas’ hand like Lukas was hurting him. “Now I live with another nice family on a farm.”

“Is your mom -”

Philip’s eyes look for a moment as if they are on fire, and he wants to burn Lukas with them, then all it takes is a slight shake of his head and Lukas knows.

“I’m sorry, dude,” he says quietly, all he ever could say.

“Yeah, whatever. I’m back,” Philip says, and he’s smiling but there’s no joy in his words. “Happy?”

“Yeah.” Lukas smiles back, but unlike Philip he actually means it, because this is the first time since Philip got taken away that he doesn’t have to hide anything.

He thinks about telling Philip right then and there that for the first year, Lukas sent a text to his disconnected phone number nearly every day, begging him to come back.

That for the second year he was gone, Lukas would sometimes go to church with his dad, and he would even pray.

That for the third year, Lukas almost didn’t kiss his girlfriend, because that would officially be washing away the last trace of Philip Shea from his bloodstream, and as much as Lukas wanted to be normal, he didn’t want to forget.

The thing is though, that they changed in those three years, they grew older and distant, but the world did not. The world stayed the same, with its perfect order and placement, with its rules and sins you cannot commit.

Lukas still stands taller than Philip, and Lukas still wants to have his hands on Philip, but because the world doesn’t want it, he still can’t do it. Any of it. Ever.

Lukas drops his hands by his sides for good, and kills the desire to reach for him with a simple thought.

“I’ll see you around,” he says, and pushes his way through the door.

He doesn’t get far. He leans by the water fountain and tries hard to catch his breath, because it feels like he’s been suckerpunched. A few seconds later he hears the bathroom door swing open, hears Philip’s footsteps, watches him walk down the hall and away.

Despite everything that Lukas just now thought and realized and remembered, when he watches Philip leave -

He still wants him to come back.

-

The biggest struggle of his entire life happens that following Friday.

School ends, but he stays behind a bit to use the gym, has to work on strengthening his core for motocross. It’s past four when he’s finished his workout, the janitors almost done mopping the hallways, so he’s pretty sure everyone else has gone home.

Everyone, of course, except for Philip Shea, who’s outside by the bike rack when Lukas exits the school.

There’s only one thing he should do; keep walking to his own bike, get on it, and go home.

That’s not what he wants to do, though.

Thank god nobody else is around to see, to watch him as he stands outside the school and takes a step forward, then another step back, repeating that over and over at least seventy times.

Philip finally gets his bike unlocked and starts to back it out, and that’s when Lukas’ body works on its own, taking all those steps forward instead of backwards.

“What are you doing here still?” he asks, going for casual, mostly uninterested.

Philip only looks shocked for a second, then he’s back to cold and removed. “I had to catch up on a bunch of work I missed,” he says, plainly.

“Cool,” Lukas says, slipping his hands in his pockets. “So, you ride your bike home now?”

Philip’s expression never wavers, no smile, no frown, nothing. “No, I just walk next to it to look cool.”

It takes Lukas too long of a moment to realize he’s joking.

“I could give you a ride, if you want.” It just comes out, there’s a voice in his head screaming _why did you say that stop it_ but his mouth just keeps moving. “I have an extra helmet in my locker.”

“No thanks.”

“Scared?” He’s grinning, stupidly, eyes narrowed on Philip.

Philip just chuckles, shakes his head, looks like a walking definition of the word judgement.

“What do you get from it?”

Lukas doesn’t know what to say to that, because he doesn’t know. He tilts his head down and sighs, and then his eyes land on Philip’s bike.

“Gonna be pretty hard to bike home with a flat.”

“What -” Philip jerks his head down, checking for himself, then throwing the bike to the ground once he realizes. “Where’s the nearest bus stop?” he asks, voice skirting the border between desperate and annoyed.

“What? No, dude, just get on my bike.”

It’s a few more moments of contemplation, of Philip sucking on his lower lip as his eyes search Lukas’ face, and it feels like being put under a microscope or something. Lukas doesn’t know where to look or what else to say.

“Fine,” Philip sighs, crossing his arms. “Let’s go.”

Lukas didn’t think that far ahead.

He’s the best in his circuit.

He’s raced in snow and ice and rain.

But when he gets on his bike and feels Philip Shea wrap his arms around him, his front to Lukas’ back, when Philip holds on like he _needs_ him - Lukas thinks for sure that this is the most dangerous terrain.

Philip lives with Gabe Caldwell and Helen Torrance, in a much bigger house than the one Philip grew up in, the small little house that was always so cold. There’s not just a front yard, there’s a back yard, and a back yard to that back yard. There’s space everywhere. All the freedom in the friggin’ world, really.

Philip gets off his bike once they come to a stop, and he looks healthier, stronger, more lively and less see-through.

He just doesn’t look happy.

It sorta hurts Lukas when he thinks about it, that Philip used to look happy, Philip used to smile. It used to be because of him.

“So you live here now?”

He’s completely aware that he keeps saying obvious things, with obvious answers, but it’s all he can think of. Everything that’s not obvious just can’t be said.

“Yup,” Philip says, holding his helmet between his hands, fiddling with it but not giving it back.

“Do you like it?”

Philip looks over his shoulder at the house, and says a bit sadly, “They’re nice.”

God, he just really hates time and change and growing up. He used to be able to talk to Philip about everything, tell him anything, never had to worry about being judged or told to shut up. Now it feels like any word he says will just push Philip further and further away.

Which is how it’s supposed to be, so why can’t he -

“Philip, I -” His hands flex around his handle bars, his mouth opens and closes and opens again but all that comes out is his breath. “I just - wanted to say - that life really sucked when you left.”

Philip is unreadable, and he always has been - to the rest of the world. Not to Lukas. Philip was Lukas’ favourite book.

Now he understands nothing.

“Did it?” Philip finally says, voice dry, his eyes intent on Lukas. “Because to me it looks like you have a perfect life going for you now.”

“Yeah, I do,” he says, shamefully, shrugging his shoulders and bowing his head a little. “Except . . .”

It’s all a lie.

“Except what?” There’s now an expression on Philip’s face, one Lukas knows clear as day - hopeful.

“I dunno.” He shrugs again, feels his lips twitch to the side. “Sometimes I feel like I’m living somebody else’s life.”

Philip nods. “Tragic,” he says, but there’s a small smile fighting its way through. “I wish I were living somebody else’s life.”

“Sorry. I guess it’s shitty of me to say I’m glad you’re back.”

It’s Philip’s turn to shrug. “Depends if you mean it or not.”

“I do.”

There’s an awkward moment, lasting about five seconds, where they just - look at each other. Then Philip is biting his lip again, nodding as he hands back the helmet.

“Thanks for the ride.”

But that can’t be it. This can’t just be over. Lukas can’t ride away if there’s a chance he can’t ride back.

“Hey, um. We should do something. Like - hang out.”

Philip’s hopeful expression morphs into one of amusement, disbelief - hurt. “Oh, you want to hang out with me? In public? Are you sure?”

Lukas groans, sharpens his gaze and spits out, “You don’t need to be an asshole, you know.”

There’s no pause. There’s no transition from hurtful to happy. All of a sudden, Philip is saying, “Then okay, sure.” and he’s smiling.

Lukas freezes, everything freezes, the whole world and every second of time.

“Really?”

Philip purses his lips, lifts a dismissive shoulder and says easily, “If you mean it.”

“I - I mean it.”

“Cool. See you later then.” Philip nods again, offers half a smile, then turns to walk away.

And Lukas would smile, and maybe fist pump the air, except -

He didn’t really mean it in the way he said it.

-

They have sodas from the gas station, the whole day ahead of them, and nothing but each other and the open fields of the Waldenbeck farm.

He hasn’t hung out with Philip since Philip was about five inches shorter and a lot younger.

Since that day in his bedroom, where the motocross magazine was forgotten on the floor and they learned how one another tasted.

Philip is a lot different now.

He’s still silent, no longer in the way that makes you want to stay away, but instead makes you want to know more.

The type of silence that’s real, because everything he is is already prominent. He wears his shame as proud as he wears his leather jacket with all its patches.

Not like Lukas, who is silent because he can only show who he really is in fractions.

That leather jacket . . .

Lukas thinks, as they walk side by side, talking about nothing and everything, that he really wants to put his hands under that leather jacket, explore Philip until there’s nothing he doesn’t know about Philip’s body.

Lukas keeps one hand around his soda, one hand in his pocket, and keeps at least two feet between them at all times. Even out here, in all this open space, he isn’t allowed to be that free, to be closer. To touch.

“This is kinda funny,” Philip eventually says, cutting off Lukas’ spiel about a ramp he’s building over there, across a section of field that they’ve already passed three times.

“What is?” Lukas asks, already smiling, not really minding that Philip interrupted him because it’s Philip talking.

Philip looks at him as they walk, and to Lukas’ relief he’s smiling too. “You beg me to hang out with you as if you don’t have a million other friends to walk around your farm with.”

Lukas averts his gaze, because he’s definitely blushing, or something stupid like that.

“Yeah, well, none of them are like you. You just - get it.”

“Oh yeah? I didn’t realize it took a special kind of person to walk around a farm.”

Lukas can hear the smile evident in Philip’s voice, doesn’t have to look, not that he can look.

He says to his feet, fiddling with his bottle of soda, “And . . . you listen.”

Philip’s pace begins to slow, and Lukas can feel the way he’s staring at him as he asks, “Your other friends don’t?”

“Not really,” Lukas says, and the hand he has buried in his pocket is beginning to twitch, wants to be free, wants to touch Philip. “Not to the kind of stuff I wanna talk about.”

“Then why are you friends with them?”

Lukas finally looks at him, eyes set serious in his skull. “Who else is there?”

That’s when Philip finally looks away. “Right.”

They find a place to sit, way out in the middle of nowhere, backs against a tree. With nobody else around, Lukas thinks that if he asks, then maybe Philip will tell him. Answer all these questions that have been burning holes in his mind since Philip got taken away.

He tries.

Philip’s wall is different now, higher, more thick, and Lukas isn’t allowed to reach out and search his way around it with his hands anymore.

Philip evades his first question: W _hat was it like?_

Then his second question: _Do you prefer it - the city?_

Then his third question: _Did you meet anybody? Like - like me?_

Before he can even attempt his fourth question Philip is laughing, giving Lukas an incredulous look, has Lukas feeling so shameful he starts to twist his fingers together.

“You know, I’m still good with being a strict listener,” Philip says, but there’s no hostility in his voice, so Lukas untwists his fingers.

Then he just talks. So many words, important and unimportant, have been building, all pent up inside his chest. He just says whatever, not caring if it’s stupid, not caring if it’s boring. Philip never looks bored.

He never has.

He talks mostly about motocross, about his first competition out of state, how excited he was to go, how proud his dad was.

By the end of it, when he thinks he’s finally run out of sentences to say, he almost feels tired, and his mouth is dry.

Philip is leaning on his fist, legs criss-crossed, eyes entirely on Lukas. His smile is slow, and his laugh is effortless, and his voice is pure teasing as he says, “You talk a lot.”

Lukas laughs loudly, shocks him because he’s never laughed that loud before, and shoves at Philip’s chest.

“Shut up.”

“Why don’t _you?_ ”

He doesn’t remember Philip being like this, but he can’t imagine him any other way, every word just - adding another layer to this feeling, this need, this -

They shove at each other some more, but instead of pushing each other away, they find a way to pull each other closer. Close enough that Lukas just has to say it.

“I really missed you, man,” he admits, suddenly breathless, and he has to do something with his hands that doesn’t involve touching Philip again, so he reaches for his empty bottle, scraping the label off with his thumbnail.

He expects some sort of response, but Philip is silent, and not in the usual way.

Then there’s a hand on his arm, and it feels so out of place, no other touch has ever felt like that.

Lukas has been waiting his whole life to feel a touch like that.

There’s just something blocking him, stopping him from responding.

He stays still as stone, the way you do in the wild when there’s a predator near, don’t make a sound, pretend you’re already dead.

Philip isn’t any predator though, not with the way he gently touches Lukas’ chest, sneaking his own hand under the layer of Lukas’ jacket to grab at his shirt and urge him closer.

Lukas has his eyes open, so he sees it all happen, watches as Philip leans in and makes the first move and kisses him.

For one second, brief and forbidden -

Lukas makes the second move and kisses back, and it feels like finally being in the right world, with no rules or regulations, the world he wants to be in. It’s a mix of feeling lost and feeling like finding something you misplaced long, long ago.

_Please never let me lose this again._

Expect when you’re just not meant to find that something, when it’s dangerous and infectious, when that something should remain hidden -

He uses both his hands and finally touches Philip by pushing him back.

“What the hell -” he shouts, shouldn’t shout it, not when Philip’s lips are still close to his.

Philip is fumbling, his eyes blinking furiously, confused as he tries to grab back for Lukas. “What -”

“Get away from me - what’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Philip shouts back, and he’s still close enough that Lukas can see there’s no more brown in his eyes, just black dark hurt. “What’s wrong with _me?_ What’s wrong with you?”

Lukas jumps to his feet, takes the hem of his shirt and raises it to his lips, furiously wiping away the wrongful taste of Philip.

“You shouldn’t have - you need to stay away from me.”

Even as he’s yelling it, angry and scared, his mind is anything but. His mind is replaying every small fraction of their kiss, trying to imprint it in his brain before he makes Philip go away.

“I knew it.” Philip stands too, his hands curling into fists at his side, and the expression he’s wearing looks as if Lukas just punched him, but oh no, it’s so much worse. “You’re still such an asshole.”

Standing taller than Philip, more scared than Philip, wanting nothing but Philip - Lukas doesn’t know what to say. Blood would likely come out, opposed to words, because it feels like his stomach’s been cut.

They both just breathe harshly, staring at each other, and how was it just ten seconds ago that they were kissing?

“I’m not a little kid anymore,” Philip says, and his voice sounds even but more venomous. “You can’t just - use me and then push me aside. I’m not like that.”

“Ph-Philip -”

“No, no! Just tell me why, so I can finally stop listening.”

It’s been years, and years, of keeping every word inside, thinking so much but never being able to say, going to church but not being able to pray, and now that he’s cut and he’s bleeding it just -

It all just comes out with his breath.

“You did this to me!” Lukas yells, and he jabs a finger into his own chest, surprised to find there really isn’t an open wound. “You’re like - like a _disease_. I always feel sick around you.”

His goal wasn’t to render Philip breathless, to have him look so betrayed his eyes shut tight for a moment, but that’s what Philip does. Then he takes a faltering step back, and back, until he’s too far from Lukas.

“Then why - why do you keep me around?”

The bleeding stops then, and Lukas can’t say any of those reasons.

“Because -” He groans, rubs at his tired, tired eyes, and wants to say something stupid like _you_ _tainted my veins, made me need you._ “I don’t know.”

Philip takes another step backwards. “Well when you figure it out, feel free to leave me out of it,” he spits out, then turns away, leaving Lukas blind and bloody by the tree.

His steps are soundless, but they make the earth shake like a drum being beat.

Lukas never heard Philip leave before, wasn’t there to stop it, just had to wake up one day with him gone, and he can’t live another day like that. Not when he’s watching it happen. Not when he’s the reason.

“Philip.”

Philip doesn’t stop, so Lukas starts.

“Philip!”

He grabs the first thing he can, the bend of Philip’s arm, and yanks him back and around to face him. “I’m - I’m sorry.”

Philip says nothing, breathes out harsh in the direction of Lukas’ hands.

“Like hell you are.”

Lukas brings his other hand up, to touch Philip’s chest, to finally let himself feel those places behind Philip’s wall.

“I just don’t know what to do.”

Philip meets his eyes then, and it’s terrifying, the earth-shuddering reality that hits him that they are no longer kids.

It’s the first time, Lukas thinks, that he’s ever said that. Philip came into his life so long ago with problems Lukas didn’t know the first thing about, but he figured it out, he tried.

Now he’s just as lost as Philip.

“You’re better off pretending I don’t exist again,” Philip says quietly, all fight gone, the rise and fall of his chest beginning to settle under Lukas’ hand. “I’ll do the same for you.”

I can’t do that, I’ll bleed out.

He runs his hands everywhere that he can now, feeling like time is ticking, that soon Philip will be dust and air and nothing tangible.

I just need a clue, tell me what to do, that it’s okay -

“I don’t really think I am,” he says, twisting his fingers in the soft fabric of Philip’s shirt, finding a way to pull him closer.

I don’t think I can.

“Just - let me -”

Not a single feature on Philip’s face softens, every edge remains hard, his eyes stay calculating, pinned to Lukas.

“Not until you can look at me like I’m an actual person,” Philip says, nodding to himself slowly. “Not something - diseased.”

Then he turns around and leaves.

And Lukas stays.

It hurts.

And continues to bleed.

-

Rose is holding his hand as they exit the movie theatre, and his other hand is frantically scrolling through his phone, trying to see if he’s ever gotten a call from this unknown number before.

Right when he’s about to ignore it, dismiss it as a telemarketer, a text comes in from the same number.

_It’s Philip. please call me._

Both of Lukas’ hands falter. He nearly drops his phone, along with promptly letting go of Rose.

“Hey, baby, one second,” he says, distantly, his brain suddenly switched to an entirely different track.

“Sure,” she says, giving him an odd look as he walks off to the side, away from the exiting crowd.

He faces away from everyone, because every stranger in the world will know who Lukas is calling if they got one look at his face.

“Philip?” he says as soon as the line picks up, his voice a mixture of excitement, dread and worry. “How did you get my number?”

Because he didn't have it before.

“Doesn’t matter,” Philip quickly says back, speaking in a low, dark whisper. “Can you . . can you come and get me?”

“What? Where are you?”

“At Gabe and Helen’s.”

“I’m -” He looks over his shoulder at Rose, who is standing with her arms crossed and her eyes sharp. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

He doesn’t say another word, hangs up before Philip can, and walks back to Rose.

“Who was that?” she asks, and there’s no actual way she could know, but that’s how it feels - like she can see right through him.

“Uh, my dad,” he lies, and remembers to wrinkle his nose a bit, to make it look real. “I forgot I was grounded. He wants me to come home.”

It’s a stupid lie, if he weren’t such a stupid person.

“. . . you forgot you were grounded . . .” Rose repeats, dully, her expression wavering between confused and annoyed.

“Yeah,” he says, letting out an awkward laugh.

With a roll of her eyes, Rose simply turns and says over her shoulder, “Well you better drop me off first.”

When he drives her home, he goes maybe a bit faster than he should, he maybe cuts a few corners, but he has to get there quickly because he has to get to Philip.

By time he makes it to Helen and Gabe’s, it’s dark out, so dark that he nearly drives right by Philip, who is out on the street waiting by their mailbox.

He’s got his arms crossed, head down, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“What the hell, Philip?” Lukas is already asking, before he even gets his helmet off.

Philip doesn’t budge, doesn’t blink an eye as he says to the ground, sounding so - shaken and miserable that Lukas nearly does something dumb like grab him and hold him, “I - I didn’t know who else to call. I don’t have money for the bus, or - or a cab.”

“What happened?”

Philip sniffles, takes a deep breath in, then whispers, “I can’t stay here anymore.”

Lukas looks around Philip, to the big wooden house with one light on. It looks like a home.

Or maybe a prison.

“Okay, well, where do you wanna go?” Lukas asks, and takes a daring step forward, wraps both his hands around Philip’s crossed arms, just to touch.

“I don’t know,” Philip mumbles, not tensing under Lukas’ hands like Lukas thought he would. “Maybe my mom’s? She lives in the city now with her boyfriend.”

“Dude, I don’t . . . I don’t know.” Something about it sits wrong with him. Knowing the difference between what’s right and wrong has never been one of his strengths, but he knows in his gut which one this is. “Won’t you get in a lot of trouble?”

You’ll get taken away.

Philip shrugs both shoulders and tips his head closer to Lukas, says after a desperate exhale, “I don’t know what else to do.”

Lukas doesn’t say the first thing that comes to mind, because he’s sure it’ll only make Philip want to go off into the city on his own.

Instead he thinks, and then he says, “Maybe we can just ride around? Until you feel better?”

Philip continues to breathe in that heavy way for a few more seconds, and then he’s tilting his head up, looking right at Lukas.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, and nods a little. “Let’s go.”

There’s only so far they can go though. They either run into darkness, into the cold, or into the _Welcome to Tivoli_ sign, and going any further would just be too dangerous.

Philip is still holding on tight, his grasp around Lukas growing more desperate every time Lukas slows his bike down, so he doesn’t take him home - or whatever that big wooden house with one light on is called.

He takes Philip to his house instead, feeling uneasy the closer they get. There are no lights on in his house.

“Do you wanna go back?” Lukas asks, both of them still on the bike, balancing in the silence.

All Philip does is pause, tighten his grip around Lukas, and shake his head.

That’s how they end up inside, sitting on Lukas’ bed above the covers, a good space of distance separating them.

His dad is sleeping down the hall, and they could easily get caught, and Lukas isn’t sure what would happen, but right now he doesn’t really care. He will tomorrow, he knows that, but right now Philip is beside him on his bed, and just a few days ago he was sure he’d never see Philip again.

Lukas hasn’t ever had to help anybody before, not like this, not in a while. He doesn’t know where to look, where he’s allowed to look, if Philip wants him to look, if Philip even really wants to be here.

Because Philip is still this unreadable book, sitting cross-legged on the bed with his thumbs twiddling and his head down.

He looks like he wants to say something - and Lukas hasn’t ever seen him look like that before.

“So, uh . . .” It feels weird breaking the silence, but the second he speaks, Philip’s thumbs stop moving. “What happened?”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

There’s that wall again. Instead of getting frustrated like he usually does, like he’s been feeling more and more ever since Philip came back, he just sighs and moves closer. He doesn’t miss how Philip watches him, cautious and careful.

He doesn’t miss how the tenseness to Philip’s body recedes when they’re finally touching, their knees brushing.

“I could try?” Lukas asks, knowing how stupid he sounds. He won’t ever get it, they both know that.

He still does that thing, where he can’t look away from Philip’s lips.

He watches Philip suck the bottom one inwards, biting down on it as he thinks.

He still has that instinct, to reach out and stop him from biting, to touch and soothe.

Finally, with a great sigh, Philip opens his mouth and says, “You know what the worst feeling in the world is?”

It doesn’t sound like the kinda question you answer, so Lukas just shrugs.

“Knowing you’re not wanted,” Philip continues, and his hands go back to fidgeting, twisting, twitching. “That’s what it feels like every second I’m there. Like - like my existence is an inconvenience to them. It sucks.”

“I bet.”

He’s scared to say the wrong thing. He’s scared to make it worse. He’s scared that he already knows what to say in return, but he can’t.

_Well, I want you._

“They’re gonna get rid of me soon, I can tell. Just like the other family did.”

“What? No way,” Lukas exclaims, lightly hitting the side of Philip’s arm. “I don’t know about Helen, but Gabe is really cool. He looks after our horses.”

Philip simply laughs, a short, rough chop of a sound. “That’s comforting.”

“I mean like - I’m just trying to help.”

For a quick second - or maybe Lukas is just imagining it - Philip smiles, and leans the slightest bit closer to Lukas’ hand, which hasn’t actually moved from where he hit him.

“I dunno, sometimes . . . sometimes it feels like my own mom doesn’t even want me.”

Lukas wraps his fingers tighter around Philip, and he can no longer feel a wall, no more real resistance, so he pulls Philip closer.

“That’s crazy. Your mom loves you, right?”

“Not enough to go to rehab.”

Lukas has no response to that.

“That . . . yeah, that sucks.”

“Mhm,” Philip hums, and the hardness to his bones and muscles returns.

“Well they wouldn’t have taken you in if they didn’t want you, right?” He’s trying for optimism, fumbling for the right words.

“I feel like they regret it now.”

“Do you want to be there?”

Philip looks up then, and there’s something weird about his eyes, conflicted and confused but terrified. “I don’t know.”

Feeling like he’s onto something, ‘cause along with the terror there’s something like recognition in Philip’s eyes, Lukas continues and says, “Maybe it goes both ways?”

Never in his life will he ever relate to Philip’s situation, but he knows what it’s like to resist something that’s resisting you back when you’re still tethered to it. Tension gets created, makes you ache when you just want to give in, makes anger fill up all the empty spaces left from breaking.

“Maybe,” Philip says, after a long pause. “I’m just - really tired.”

Something begins to hurt in Lukas’ chest at that. He’s heard it before.

He just had no idea that you could still be starving and sick and homeless, even with food and medicine and a home. He had no idea that just because a few years pass, doesn’t mean you get older.

Philip still sounds like the sick, starving kid that Lukas had to hold, because nobody else would.

If Philip is still that kid, then Lukas has no choice but to be the kid who holds him. He’s just not sure if he can make himself be that kid, he’s just not sure if Philip still wants him to be.

Because he said he didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t.

So why is he here?

“Hey, Philip?” he asks, voice sounding too rough, but he’s just too scared to make it sound anything else. “How _did_ you get my number?”

Philip’s eyes remain focused on Lukas’, but Lukas can’t read them anymore. “Never forgot it,” he says plainly, as if it’s an obvious answer.

“Oh.” His voice continues to sound rough around the edges, to cover up the immediate pounding of his heart.

“Yup.”

“Are you still mad at me then?”

Philip laughs at that, too loud for how quiet they have to stay, and the message in his eyes becomes very clear when he narrows them and scoffs, “Don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Lukas’ heart continues to pound, as it sinks down, down, down. “Oh,” he says again, sounding more hurt now than anything else. “So . . what are you gonna do?”

“Ask to be transferred out? Doesn’t really matter, I guess. I just always feel like this.”

And he can’t stand to hear it anymore, not when he has the answer, when he knows what to say - it just comes out and he almost doesn’t regret it.

“I want you, you know.”

Philip tilts his head to the side, eyes still narrowed, disbelieving. “Really?”

“To like - stay.”

“Why? You don’t even want me around you.”

“Yeah, well, everything sucks without you, okay?”

He was sort of hoping that would be enough for Philip, but simple and easy is never enough for Philip.

Any previous amusement fades from Philip’s face, and he’s back to looking as hurt as he did that day by the tree. “Do you still think I’m some sort of disease?”

“ _No_ ,” Lukas says automatically, growing more desperate. “I just - I don’t get it. I’m not - nobody else gets it, okay? The way I feel about you -”

“How do you feel about me?”

He thinks -

In the same stupid way that you wanna touch all the stars but you know you can’t because you can’t ever get near them -

Or like wanting to stay stuck in a dream but not being able to sleep, having to wake up -

In all these stupid ways and more, with words I can’t say, but can’t stop from making up.

“I don’t know, okay? It doesn’t make sense,” he groans, rubbing at the back of his neck, feeling the heat of his own skin from how fast his blood is rushing.

“Well do you wanna kiss me?”

It could come across as teasing, but it almost sounds threatening, like Philip knows Lukas’ answer already.

And Lukas can’t blame him, because the answer is obvious in how quickly his gaze drops to Philip’s lips.

He just shrugs again, and all he manages to say is, “I just don’t want you to leave.”

To his relief, and maybe his luck, Philip just nods, and whispers, “Okay.”

Then he’s leaning closer to Lukas, nudging his head against his shoulder until he’s comfortable, and it’s not until then that Lukas can hear his breathing even out.

It’s not until then that Lukas wants to just shout the truth, whatever the truth is. Probably something along the lines of _I’m lying, I want to kiss you, can I?_

But he doesn’t understand it, and it’s hard to believe in things without reason.

Trusting in some higher power never works out.

Didn’t bring his mom back, didn’t make his dad happy again, didn’t give Lukas a world where he could feel this way for Philip Shea without consequence.

He still sort of wants to, because his first reaction when seeing something strange in the sky is to believe it’s another form of life, or maybe some undiscovered planet, something cool and different and - weird.

It never is. Science always comes along with its logic and reason and explains all of Lukas’ hope and fascination away.

There’s always an explanation for strange things.

So why can’t he explain this?

More importantly, why doesn’t he feel the need to?

Because when Philip yawns a bit, and Lukas says, “Hey, come here.” and lays them down against the pillows, and Philip slowly begins to inch himself closer until his face is pressed to Lukas’ neck, it doesn’t feel wrong, or bad, not really.

This wasn’t wrong then, and it’s not wrong now.

And maybe it’s weird but Lukas has always liked weird things.

He just needs to know what to do.

“Can you just like, talk?” Philip eventually asks, still sounding tense, still not fully relaxed against Lukas’ body.

“Me? About what?”

“Anything.”

“Sure.” His hand has started stroking up Philip’s arm against his conscious decision, but he doesn’t stop it. “Uh . . . I saw a movie with Rose today. She didn’t like it, but I thought it was funny. Maybe we could go see it, or something.”

Philip pulls away just slightly, only so he can look up at Lukas, squinting in the dark. “Wait, you were with Rose?”

“Yeah, right before I came to get you.”

It’s another few seconds of staring, of not knowing what he’s looking at when Philip looks at him, but then Philip is settling back down, this time moving closer.

Lukas might be imagining it too, but he swears he feels the slightest press of lips against his shoulder.

He keeps talking, about nothing, about dumb things, about his day, until he’s sure Philip is asleep.

Then he starts to talk to himself, and whoever else out there might be listening.

He does what he hasn’t in awhile.

He prays.

-

Philip must have left before the sun even came up.

The bed is cold when Lukas finally blinks his eyes open. He’s awake immediately, bolting upright, searching the sheets for any sign of Philip’s body, but he’s gone. There’s not a sign of him, no proof he was ever here, except for the text sent to Lukas’ phone a bit after 4:00 AM.

_Thanks._

Even though Philip’s gone, Lukas lets himself linger a bit in thoughts, in memories, in how it felt to have him that close again.

There’s a terrible ache in his chest, a dizzy-drowsy feeling in his stomach, something hurting in his head. It all comes when he realizes - he needs him like that always.

Despite the sickness, he can’t stop smiling. Grinning, really, as he hops down the stairs two at a time, never looking away from the one-worded text that says so much more.

His grin quickly fades the second he steps into the kitchen and his dad is standing there, wearing that look that Lukas hasn’t seen in years.

“Morning, dad,” he says, forcing his smile back out, pocketing his phone, as if his dad can sense what’s written there.

“I just got off the phone with Sheriff Torrance,” his dad says, his eyes grim, his voice stern.

“Oh yeah, dad?”

“She said her foster son went missing last night, and she heard your bike leaving the property soon after.”

He knew it, he knew he should have cared, should have come up with his excuse before executing it, before letting Philip in. He should have thought of it before, because now that it’s happening, he doesn’t know what to do.

So he stands there with his mouth working into different shapes, his voice refusing to cooperate.

“How - how do you know it was my bike?”

“Lukas.”

He’s good at lying because it’s all he does.

For some reason, instead of doing what he usually does, he does the opposite, and he tells the truth.

“He needed somewhere to go for a bit,” Lukas says, sighing, and lets his shoulders drop slightly.

His dad’s eyes remain hard, looking like he couldn’t care less about any of Philip’s needs, couldn’t care less that Lukas is the only one in the world who can meet them. “I thought you were done with this boy.”

“Dad, I - I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t dare look up as his dad steps closer, as his dad claps a hand over his shoulder, because he can tell the truth, but not all of it.

“You can’t help a kid like that, Lukas, so you need to stop trying,” his dad says, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Focus on your own life, you hear me? Or else I’ll have to put a stop to this myself.”

Lukas nods, and pulls himself back together, into the structure of a person his dad wants him to be.

“Yes, dad.”

-

He says that, and he even thinks he means it.

Evidently, he doesn’t, because as soon as his dad leaves, he’s grabbing his phone and finding that number that isn’t so unknown now.

He sends a text back.

_Any time._

-

If _any time_ becomes _all the time_ , then Lukas doesn’t complain, and Philip doesn't mention it.

Maybe because neither really notice that they can't go a single day without accidentally (completely on purpose) running into each other.

If Lukas happens to stay after school to use the gym, and if Philip just happens to stick around after school too, then that's just a coincidence.

A coincidence that keeps happening so much Lukas thinks he might have abs of steel now.

They develop a routine - ride to the gas station, buy a bottle of soda to share, and ride off in whatever direction they feel like going, until it's time to go home.

It's not much of a routine, but it's what gets Lukas through his day, knowing that in a few short hours he'll be able to stop being silent, be able to actually think and be heard and not be judged.

The days he has to spend with Rose or his other friends aren't bad or anything, not really, except for the fact that those days serve as a reminder, loud and clear.

He's lying, and he can't live like this for the rest of his years.

The days with Philip could also serve as a reminder, maybe, but the thing is Lukas could never forget. Together or apart, he just always feels sick, a bit delirious, crazy, because he's beginning to realize the only cure to this fever is the sickness himself.

The more he thinks about it, the more he wants to kiss him, just once, just to see if he's right. 

It’s getting more obvious. Sometimes sentences just stop forming, leave his mouth hanging open, his eyes entirely too focused on Philip and Philip’s mouth. The need to lean in and cup his face and make them kiss again is just -

Philip just smirks, raises an eyebrow, and asks, _‘You were saying?’_

That urge presents itself as clear even now, today, with the sky a bit grey and the mud perfect for riding. It really doesn’t matter what the weather is like though, because Lukas always feels it.

He doesn’t look at Philip’s face as they walk the bike through the field, back to the starting point of the jump. He doesn’t say anything either, too scared that it’ll be something too truthful, something he can’t say.

It’s Philip who says something, bumping his arm into Lukas’, casual, just a simple touch.

(It has Lukas’ heart racing, but he doesn’t mention it.)

“So my mom, she checked into rehab last week,” Philip says, sounding just as casual as the bump of his arm had been.

Lukas grins, bumps his arm back. “No way. That’s awesome.”

“Yup.” Philip looks over then, his grin half as bright as Lukas’. “They’re already working on setting up visitations.”

“That’s rad, man.”

Philip shrugs a little, and Lukas doesn’t know why he doesn’t look as excited. “If she actually stays.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess,” he says, quietly, dialing his smile back down. Then it hits him, and then he can’t stop from saying it, this sudden fear filling up his lungs and he needs to get it out. “Hey, if she gets better, are you gonna leave?”

Philip stops walking, frowning as he looks at Lukas. “Probably.”

“But - but you’d come back and visit, right?”

It’s a few seconds more of frowning, of Philip’s eyes squinting, and then his grin is spreading fully across his face. “Maybe,” he teases, and shoves a bit at Lukas’ arm. “There’s nothing here that really interests me though.”

Lukas laughs, and shoves back at Philip. “Oh, really?”

“Really.”

When Philip is smiling like that, at him, because of him . . . well, the urge to resist his urges greatly diminishes, into almost nothing.

So Lukas turns his head and looks away from Philip’s smile.

It’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

-

Maybe he is hiding out, so what?

Going back home just isn’t something he can do right now, because even out here, in their cabin, miles and miles away from their house, he can feel his dad’s disappoint pressing against him every time he breathes.

“There’ll be more races, right?” Philip asks, from where he’s kneeling right in front of Lukas on the tiny bed in the corner.

“I guess,” Lukas mumbles, picking at the material of the blanket underneath them. “Doesn’t change the fact that I came in last for this one.”

“You know you’re a good rider, Lukas. It was just a slip up.”

“Tell that to my dad.”

Philip sighs, and slowly, he inches his hand across the bed, until he can brush his fingers against Lukas’. Lukas immediately brushes back, prefers playing with his fingers instead of the blanket. Mindless touching, not even thinking - it calms him.

“So what’s your plan?” Philip asks, rubbing his thumb against the back of Lukas’ hand now. “Hide out here forever?”

Lukas nods, and says sadly, “If I have to.”

“Well, I’ll hide out here with you.”

“Thanks.” He fights to get his thumb on top, not sure why having his entire hand around Philip’s settles something in him. “I don’t know why I screwed up so bad.”

“Maybe you were distracted? Sometimes when I think too much about how my mom’s doing, I forget what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, probably,” Lukas says, still too caught up in looking at their hands. “All I keep thinking about is you.”

Both of their hands immediately still at that, both of them jerking their heads up to look at each other. Philip’s eyes are wide, lost, shocked, and Lukas just knows his eyes are the same, if not more.

“I mean -” He tries to backpedal, take the words away, but there’s that sick feeling again, making him feel like he’s going to throw up if he even tries to un-mean it. “Yeah, you know . . .”

All Philip does is stare at him, and smile in a way that isn’t quite as bright as it could be, as if he knows better not to now.

“Sorry then,” he says quietly, fingers beginning to move again. “For making you lose the race.”

“Whatever. I like thinking about you.”

When Philip says nothing, moves nothing, wears no words across his face for Lukas to read, it flicks a switch inside of him. Makes him want to create the words, come up with a whole new language that only they can understand, words said by hands.

So he lets go of Philip’s hand and reaches for his wrist instead, then works his way up, up, until he has a good enough grip to pull Philip closer.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, not really, but he understands what Philip’s doing. He gets why he’s so tense, why everywhere but his eyes screams resistance.

Philip’s waiting for the push, for the hurt, to be called words in a language that no one should speak - _you’re a disease._

“Hey, Philip,” Lukas whispers, and moves his hand up to cup his cheek. Philip’s still in that phase of half-smiling, so Lukas grins and finishes it for him, hoping it comes off as reassuring.

Nothing else is spoken after that, but Philip doesn’t move away when Lukas moves in and presses the quickest peck of a kiss against his lips. Just to test, touch, and see.

He sort of expects the world to cave in, for there to be faces watching through every window after that, for the entire forest to burn.

All that happens is a cure. He suddenly feels better, grounded, alright, as if he had a million broken bones and now he can run a hundred miles.

So he does it again, and again, like this is medicine and now he can’t live without it, short soft kisses over and over, waiting for Philip to move or respond or say something, anything, because Lukas is saying _everything_.

Then Philip rises up on his knees just a bit, and all of Lukas is scared that it’s so he can move away, but all he does is move closer, rising up so he can deepen the kiss.

It’s hard to kiss when you’re smiling so goddamn wide, but he can’t stop it, grinning as his hands begin to move, finally freed, all over Philip. He holds Philip’s face with one, uses the other to grab at his waist and pull him right against his chest.

He’s had Philip against him before, has held him close throughout many days and nights, but now it feels different, now being this close means more.

“I -” He breaks the kiss, has to laugh a little, has to swallow down all these words trying to cram themselves through his throat. “I just - I don’t - I can’t stop.”

Philip grins, nudges his nose off Lukas’ and asks, “Stop what?”

“Thinking about you.”

It should be scary to look right at Philip after saying stupid things like that, and he should want to push him away and take them all back, but he doesn’t, not when Philip is looking at him the way he did when they were little. Full of trust and warmth and - and _belonging_.

“Me either,” Philip finally breathes back, and then it’s back to kissing and saying a million soundless words.

“Philip?” he asks, has to break the kiss, get in a few last second words before things get too loud. “I don’t really want to.”

Things start to move faster after that. Lukas has spent most of his life trying - but also resisting - to read the same book as Philip. Now they’re the same book, same page. It moves so fast that suddenly the room is a lot colder, because Lukas doesn’t have a shirt on.

Then soon neither does Philip, and he’s so small under Lukas’ hands. It scares him a bit, how frail he still feels, how one push feels like it could destroy him still. It slows Lukas’ hands, has them running along his torso more lightly.

The gentle slide of his hands though, might also be because he can’t quite believe it’s happening, that he’s doing this, touching Philip’s bare skin.

Disbelief, but not an ounce of fear.

“What - what are we gonna do?” he asks, exploring the expanse of Philip’s ribs. He’s never cared about the details of someone’s body before, not really, but all of Philip is fascinating.

Philip wraps his hands around Lukas’ wrists, just to touch, not to stop. “What have you done?”

His hands still anyways, and he feels that defensive pain flare bright in his chest, but one look in Philip’s eyes and it quickly disintegrates.

“Nothing.”

Philip’s eyes go hard, calculating, eyebrows pinching together as he asks, “Wait, not with -”

“No. You?”

His heart pounds as he waits for an answer, not able to find it in Philip’s eyes. Jealousy, and this consuming sense of inferiority, twist up his insides, bringing back that flare, that need to push Philip and all these feelings away and away until there’s nothing left but lies.

Maybe he can’t read Philip, but Philip reads him, and starts to run his hands up Lukas’ arms until he can reach his face, and then he’s pulling Lukas down for a kiss. Nothing desperate about it. It’s - it’s calming.

It washes away all the lies.

“Everything, kinda,” Philip whispers, his lips still against Lukas’.

Or, almost.

Still trained to do it though, even though there’s no need, Lukas shoves at Philip’s hands and leans backwards until their bodies aren’t touching. “Whatever, I’m not _weird_ like you, okay -”

Instead of looking wounded, Philip just pushes for more, seeing right through the paper-thin defense that Lukas is too weak to fully support. “Hey, it’s okay, we don’t have to,” he says lowly, words coming out in a rush. “Just - just - do this -”

So Lukas does, because he wants to, and follows the gentle guide of Philip’s hands until they’re both flat on the bed together, with Philip underneath Lukas, their chests rising and falling in sync.

It’s kinda scary how easy it is to just fall into it. You deny for so long, hate yourself for your wandering thoughts, pretend you don’t want it, only to be met face first with it, with the everything you’ve been denying, and you just can’t do it anymore.

When it’s happening, you can’t remember why you ever wanted to deny it in the first place.

Except just when he’s forgetting, giving into these urges that sometimes consume him at night, Philip’s kiss breaks off into a desperate, breathy whine, and his hips jerk upwards. And Lukas’ instinct is to respond to that, to bite at Philip’s bottom lip, to move the leg that’s slotted between Philip’s just to get him to make that noise again.

Then he remembers.

Those simple, boring, normal routines of hanging out, drinking soda, riding bikes, doing nothing, it was supposed to make it all easy. It was supposed to turn the impossible into something Lukas might be able to manage. He’s let go of Philip before, he could do it again.

He has to do it again, because if he doesn’t then Philip will be taken away again and it’ll be Lukas’ fault.

It was supposed to be easy. It was never meant to get here.

Yet here is where they are, with Philip’s hands toying at the zipper of Lukas’ jeans, with Lukas now sucking what must be _bruises_ into the side of Philip’s neck, and here is exactly where they shouldn’t be, because -

He can’t be one of those kids.

The ones you hear about in the news, who either get killed or kill themselves. The kids in the TV shows used as jokes, if they’re even used at all. The kids that politicians talk down on and fight against, and the kids that half the nation or more _hates_.

He can’t be one of them.

That’s what he wants to think, and it would be so easy to think that, but the way his lips can’t leave Philip’s skin for more than a second, the way Philip now has one arm wrapped around Lukas’ neck, as he tilts his own head back and moans breathily with every new kiss against his throat, the way being on top of Philip feels like his one and only place in this world -

Makes Lukas think that maybe he is one of them.

“I’m so screwed,” he whispers, mumbled against Philip’s jaw.

“No,” Philip mumbles back, and his lips press against Lukas’ again, makes Lukas want to forget ever speaking again so they can just do this. “We can stay here until -”

That would be so easy, but now, Lukas isn’t hiding from his dad because he lost a race.

Now he’s hiding from his dad so he doesn’t lose something even more important, something he can’t ever get again.

“Philip, no, I - I can’t.”

In a way he’s thankful it’s Philip who stops kissing him, who stops touching him, who pulls back and lets his eyes revert to hard and hurt and distant. Lukas would never be able to do it first.

“What’s your excuse this time?” Philip asks flatly, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

Lukas runs a hand through his hair, casts his eyes off to the window, the dimming sunlight, the continuous reminder that he has to go home soon.

“My - my dad.”

“. . . your dad.”

“He - he - you don’t get it, okay? If we keep hanging out, I think he’s gonna do something stupid, like call social services on you.”

All Philip does is stare up at him, and Lukas can’t stare back, lets his eyes go back to the window. So he misses the way Philip suddenly begins to move, doesn’t notice until it’s too late that Philip is sliding out from under him, already reaching for his shirt.

“That’s the best you can come up with?” he scoffs, letting out a hard laugh. “You can admit you want to kiss me, you know, you don’t need all these excuses -”

“I’m not lying!” Lukas shouts, desperately, jumping up from the bed to stand in front of Philip. “He’s crazy. I know he’d do it, Philp, he would, so I - I just want to like, protect you, okay?”

Keep you safe, away from trouble, and away from getting hurt. Just like when we were little.

Philip has his shirt on, now beginning to tug his jacket back over his shoulders. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, breathing harshly, letting his eyes roam all of Lukas’ face. Then finally, he says, dark and roughened and dashed of hope, “Sure, so why are you telling me this now, if it isn’t just some excuse to get out of kissing me?”

Lukas swallows, tries to say something but only succeeds in letting out a staggered breath.

“I - I don’t know, Philip, I thought maybe - maybe I could find a way to just give you up,” he says, frantically, allowing himself to reach out and run his hands along Philip’s arms, his shoulders. “But I can’t now. Not after -” He still can’t say it, not even after _doing_ it. “I can’t. And what’s he gonna say? What’s he gonna say?”

For the first time since coming back, Philip actually looks like he believes Lukas. His body relaxes under his hands, and his eyes look slightly sad, understanding, in a way that Lukas hates and appreciates and sort of kind of needs.

“Then don’t tell him.”

Lukas has to lift his head up, meet Philip’s eyes full on, has to understand because he must have misheard that. “What?”

“I get it. I can keep a secret.”

He can’t mean what Lukas thinks he means. That everything they are, and what they feel and have been feeling, and all the silent words exchanged through touches, that they can keep it all a secret.

“Philip . . .” Lukas trails off, and resists the urge to rest their foreheads together, say a few more wordless sentences. “Thanks, man.”

Underneath that big leather jacket, that Lukas now knows is a lie because Philip is so small, Philip shrugs. “I guess I should have known,” he whispers, and forces out half a smile. “Even when I’m wanted, I’m not.”

Lukas has no response to that - (or, well, he does, but he doesn’t know how to vocalize it, say it in words that need to be said and not felt).

He should be working on figuring out how to rewire his brain, make the instinct to hold onto Philip go away. For now, he gives into it, and lets their foreheads touch, lets his lips just barely brush Philip’s.

“Sorry.”

“Told you. You should have just pretended I don’t exist.”

Lukas laughs at that, not sure how he’s still able to laugh at all.

“I can’t do that though, dude,” he says, almost sadly. “‘Cause you do.”

-

Philip hands him back the helmet, always holding it like he doesn’t quite want to give it back, and Lukas always accepts it like he doesn't quite want to take it. Even being as old as he is now, he just doesn’t understand why they have to go to separate homes, spend any time apart, when everything is just better when they’re together.

Even though they can’t be.

There’s no light outside, except for the yellow-tinted windows of Helen and Gabe’s house. The rest of the world is dark, the outline of the trees barely visible against the sky. So dark, that when Lukas leans forward and grabs at Philip’s jacket, tugging him to his lips, nobody else would ever be able to see it.

Just how it’s supposed to stay.

Hidden by the dark, Lukas shows all his needs, wants and fears, by whispering, “It’s gonna be okay, right?”

You’re gonna stay, right?

He can only feel Philip’s smile, right against his lips, and even though he can’t see it he knows it’s a bit sad, a bit dejected.

And somehow Philip answers both of Lukas’ questions after only hearing one. “I don’t think that’s up to us.”

Lukas doesn’t look away until he’s sure Philip is safe inside, watches him walk up the lawn and open the front door with ease, catches the small little wave he gives him before closing the door behind him.

Lukas doesn’t leave until he’s sure he won’t crash his bike, his thoughts racing with everything that is Philip. Like floodgates opening, or more like - bursting, and now every thought that tries to stray from the path just gets pulled back in. _Philip Philip Philip_ , and nothing else.

He kissed him and he liked it. He had Philip’s bare chest under his hands. He felt Philip’s fingers inch their way underneath the waistband of his jeans. He’s swallowed down the taste of Philip and now he wants more.

He hardly made it three years without Philip, and that was when he just barely knew how any of that felt. Now that he’s felt it, tasted it, lived it and breathed it and it didn’t hurt, he just - he just can’t.

He can’t go back and say he isn’t, when he knows he very much is.

This can’t be a disease, this way he feels for Philip, because if he were sick this long then it’d be fatal, and the only time he feels like he’s dying is when he’s pretending he’s not.

He slows down and stops about half a mile from his house, choosing to walk his bike through the dark, knowing what’s waiting for him beyond the front door. He knows what he has to say.

For the first time in a long time, it won’t be a lie.

The house is eerily quiet when he walks in, increases his pulse and his panic as he looks in every direction for any sign of his dad.

“In here, Lukas,” his dad calls from the living room, the sudden noise of his voice jolting straight up Lukas’ back.

These are the last few seconds where things might be normal - but they won’t ever be _right_ if he doesn’t say something. He closes his eyes, breathes in deep, licks his lips hoping for any trace of that boy he likes so much, and finds the courage to walk into the living room.

“Hey, dad,” he says, taking step by slow step towards the couch, where his dad sits with a drink in one hand.

“Where’ve you been?”

Lukas hangs his head, as if somebody just smacked the back of it. “Sorry, I just needed to clear my head.”

“Sit down. I think we need to talk.”

The punctual punch of all his dad’s words just spikes Lukas’ heart rate higher, so high he thinks it’s audible. Sitting down would just drive him crazy, put him in a smaller position, make him feel like the little kid his dad still acts like he is.

So he stays standing.

“Listen, dad, I’m real sorry about losing the race, I just -”

“It’s not about losing the race. It’s about why you lost it,” his dad interrupts, placing his glass on the coffee table, leaning forward and raising his chin up. “You haven’t been practicing lately, have you?”

“No, dad.”

“It’s because you’ve been seeing that boy, isn’t it?”

If Lukas thought his heart was loud before, he swears it’s flatlining now, the noise all high pitched screaming. “This isn’t Philip’s fault! That’s not fair -”

“That’s right. It’s your fault. For disobeying me.”

“He -” Lukas runs a hand along the back of his neck, shuts his eyes, takes a few shuddery breaths or else he’ll just shout everything, just to finally be heard. “Can we just leave him out of this?”

His dad lets out a long, hard sigh, rubs tiredly at one eye and says, voice full of resentment, “I just expect better from you, Lukas, and this boy just isn’t -”

Then Lukas feels eight again.

Feels that hand to the back of his head, and feels alone even when he’s not, and feels that weird vague-but-pronounced pain somewhere in his chest, that same pain he felt when he watched Philip walk down a sidewalk without anybody else to hold his hand and walk with him.

Just like then, Lukas decides, even if it means he gets in trouble and hurt too -

For Philip, he has to.

It has to be up to them, because it can’t be up to people who just don’t get it, who just can’t listen.

“Hey, dad, maybe I lost the race because you always expect me to win them.” It just slips from his mouth, no thought required, most likely because he’s been imagining saying it for a long time now. “Yeah, always - always putting pressure on me makes it a lot harder to always be good. Do you even realize that?”

His chest is going erratic, lungs moving so fast his ribs ache, and everything in his body is going fast fast fast, but when his dad rises to his feet and stands like a machine in front of Lukas, everything stills.

Quickly, so he doesn’t have to look at his dad’s cold and hardened face, Lukas shuts his eyes and tips his head down.

“I didn’t.”

It’s said sadly, quietly, so different than the usual roughness of his dad’s voice. Lukas doesn’t open his eyes to check if it really was him who said it.

Then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and Lukas flinches, and doesn’t relax until his dad continues and says, “Son, I just want what’s best for you.”

Summoning bravery he doesn’t even have, not sure where it’s coming from, Lukas raises his head back up, and lets it all show - doesn’t hide his watery eyes, this fear of losing the one thing he needs to keep, or this fear of disobeying the one person he needs to please.

“Then dad -”

He can’t quite say it yet, not that. He can’t look his dad in the eyes and say _you_ _raised a liar, here’s the truth._

Instead he says, “He’s not a bad kid, Philip. I wouldn’t be his friend if he were.”

He doesn’t say _he’s the only person in the world that I actually give a shit about, who gives a shit about me._

He doesn’t say _I kissed him first when I was fourteen and all I wanna do is kiss him now._

He doesn’t say _I think sometimes . . . sometimes I think that I love him, maybe._

His dad still looks at him though, like that’s exactly what he’s saying.

“And it’s not fair of you to just - threaten to take him away, okay? I - I - he’s my best friend and you don’t know him like I do, okay, he needs - he needs to stay here.”

Once his mouth closes and his words fade out, he waits for the downfall of the world, for noise and for shouting and for the walls to crash around them. He doesn’t know why he always imagines destruction, because nothing breaks, nothing even moves.

Nothing changes but the constant constriction around Lukas chest, that aching pain, becoming less and less.

“Well, you sure know how to pick them,” his dad says, letting out a sigh as he squeezes the hand he has on Lukas’ shoulder. “Listen, Lukas . . . you come first to me, and as your father I can’t let anybody else get between you and your future. If this kid -”

“His name is Philip, dad.”

“If this - _Philip_ starts to bring you down -”

“He won’t.”

“Then I will take your word for it.” His dad doesn’t look happy, proud, positive, any of the things that Lukas tries so hard to make him feel, but he does look certain, and that’s all Lukas cares about now. “But if I get another call from the Sheriff then -”

Unable to fight his relieved smile, Lukas cuts in and says breathily, happily, “You won’t, dad.”

“Then I’m making the call myself, and putting an end to this,” his dad finishes, and the hand on Lukas’ shoulder says he’s serious.

Lukas still doesn’t care.

His mind has already gone back to those thoughts, those moments that actually happened, and how they can still happen, how much more he wants to happen. Philip can stay, and Lukas can have him.

He gives into it, and leans forward to hug his dad, and accepts the hug he gets back.

“Okay, dad . . . thanks.”

-

Back to the usual, same old, regular routine. Lukas doesn’t even use the gym, just sits on a bench and stares at the ground, waiting for the time he ‘accidentally’ meets up with Philip.

His phone goes off, the noise shocking him upright.

_Coming?_

He smiles, and all but runs to the changing room to grab his backpack.

It’s the usual, same old, regular routine, but it feels different.

Philip is more quiet, as they walk along the outskirts of the farm, and not in the usual way that Philip is quiet. He plays with a stick, smacking it along the dirt and grass, keeping his eyes anywhere but on Lukas’ face.

Lukas can’t look away, never really could.

“I talked to my dad. I told him I wasn't gonna stop being your friend.” He wants to feel almost - _proud_ while saying it, but the way Philip doesn’t even flinch keeps the pride at bay, just out of reach.

“What’d he say?”

Lukas looks at the ground, watches the imprint his boots make in the grass. “He didn't seem happy, but he's okay with it, I guess. As long as we don't get into trouble, and I keep winning my races.”

“. . . so we're still being threatened then?”

“I guess,” he says again, hating the way he sounds hopeful and Philip just doesn't.

“So is there even any point to this?”

Philip has his head turned away as he says it, fiddling even more now with the stick, his pace slow and casual, as if to match the sound of his voice.

There’s nothing slow and casual about the way Lukas’ heart picks up. He reaches out and grabs at the leather of Philip’s jacket, gripping it tight enough to spin him around. “What do you mean?” he asks, even though he knows exactly what Philip means.

Philip shrugs underneath Lukas’ hand, says quietly to his feet, “I mean - us.”

Lukas lets out a pathetic, small, useless laugh, to try and ease up the cramp in his chest, the one that always hurts him when Philip looks like that.

“Well then yeah, of course.”

Philip’s voice is smaller, breaking a little as he says, “It doesn’t really feel like that.” It takes him a few seconds to raise his head and meet Lukas’ eyes, but then he is looking, and he looks so hopeless that the cramp comes back, might be a heart attack, maybe. “You know, when I turn eighteen, I’ll just have to leave anyways. So none of this will even matter.”

Lukas’ answer is instant; “It matters to me.”

Philip laughs. “Sure it does,” he says doubtfully, throwing the stick to the ground and promptly crossing his arms.

“It does, dude.” But he realizes Philip doesn’t believe him now because Philip didn’t believe him _then_. He turns and looks at his house, a speck in the distance, and knows just what to do to prove it. “Hey, come on, I gotta show you something.”

Lukas grabs his hand and pulls him along, and Philip shouts his hesitance all the way across the field, whispers it once they burst through the front door, his hand tightening in Lukas’ as he looks around the front entrance. “Your dad -”

“Who cares, come on -”

Their hands stay intertwined all the way up into Lukas’ room, only parting when Lukas has to grab at Philip’s shoulders to sit him down on his bed, push him down again when he tries to stand up.

“Your dad,” Philip says again, more fearful, his eyes casting towards the door.

“He’s out, don’t worry,” Lukas says reassuringly, smiling as his hands travel from Philip’s shoulders to his face, cupping his cheeks and tipping his head backwards a little. “Can you just listen to me for a sec?”

Philip’s eyes stay on the door for a moment, but then he’s nodding, looking back at Lukas and offering the faintest of smiles in return. “Okay.”

Now with the chance to say everything, all the words he’s been storing away, Lukas suddenly forgets them all, every single one, except for Philip’s name.

“Philip -” He swipes his tongue over his lips, breathes in for a second, then says, “Ever since we were little, I dunno, you - you just always made me feel . . . weird.”

Philip remains motionless and silent, waiting, staying, listening.

So Lukas continues, because he’s been waiting for a chance to get Philip to stay and listen.

“I think I know why now.”

This isn’t a disease, because the only time he ever feels sick is when Philip looks at him, and it never really ever feels _bad_. It’s just that he can’t explain why it feels that way, so really, he’s just - _accepting_ it now.

The only thing that’s wrong with it is that he didn’t know it was right.

And the only word that starts to burn is the one he built with lies.

“You can’t leave, okay, ‘cause the last time you did . . . it really messed me up.”

He doesn’t wait for Philip to respond, to say something doubtful, instead moves into the next step in showing it, proving it, by going to his desk and pulling open one of his junk drawers. Even after upgrading to a new phone sometime last year, he couldn’t throw this one away, no matter how broken and beat it was. It was the last thing with any memory of Philip.

He goes back to the bed as it loads, and sits next to Philip, both of them looking at the cracked screen of an old phone.

Philip looks confused, but continues to remain silent.

Until finally, it loads, and Lukas scrolls through until he finds Philip’s forbidden name, and hands the phone to him.

“Uh, here.”

Even after taking the phone, Philip chooses to just stare at Lukas a little while longer, until his gaze is turning to the broken screen, and every useless text message that Lukas ever sent.

Ranging from desperate and angry, to hurt and bleeding, to just straight up nonsense.

He meant every word.

_It’s really boring here without you nobody else listens._

_I didn’t mean to push you dude you know that right??_

_come on just come back already_

Philip’s thumb stills on the screen, right on a text that reads _you make it so hard to think about anything else._

Lukas takes the phone back then, deciding that says enough, that says everything. “Still true,” he mumbles, shrugging a bit sheepishly.

When Philip’s eyes land back on him, Lukas has to look at the wall, feeling his entire body turn red, and this can’t be healthy, this can’t be good, this is what sickness feels like, he’s pretty sure he’s gonna throw up -

“It’s really stupid, I know, but just - I wanted you, okay, so just - you can just like, forget it or something -”

It’s all voiced to the wall, but Philip’s hands land on him.

He’s being turned back, a hand on the side of his face bringing his eyes back to Philip’s, and Lukas isn’t sure why he was even afraid to look, because there’s nothing scary at all about Philip’s face. Just brown eyes, and pale skin, and pink lips that Lukas wants to kiss. There’s nothing scary about that at all, really.

Not when he’s allowed to.

“It’s not,” Philip says quietly, inching closer, until his nose is right against Lukas’. “And I can’t, can you?”

Lukas almost lets out a hushed sort of laugh, but it quickly dies in his throat when he feels Philip’s breath against his lips, and then that’s all that matters, because that’s proof right there that Lukas never can, never will be able to, and he never wants to try.

As long as Philip is alive and breathing, then Lukas can never pretend he isn’t.

“No,” he says back, and waves the phone in his hand. “Never could.”

Philip takes a breath in, then says in a whisper, “I actually - I wanted to call you as soon as I got a phone.” His eyes look away, down, at Lukas’ old phone that contains every variation of _I love you_ except for the words themselves. “I just didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

Lukas does laugh then, but it’s not hushed, not really. It’s actually the most pathetic sound he’s ever made, because that laugh turns into an outright _sob_.

Thankfully, even though he’s sure Philip heard it, it gets cut off the second their lips are touching. Then they can’t stop touching, finding more and more ways to fit their mouths together, figuring out how to breathe together, how to swallow each other’s gasps and cries and stupid pathetic sobs.

And even with the door unlocked, it’s all alright to be kissing like this, and making noises like this, and saying each other’s names like this, and it’s all alright because Philip was never wanted but now he knows he was.

It has to be all alright, it does, it needs to be, because -

_I did and I do and I always will._

He should have said it sooner, should have tried harder, because this is what he is, and what he feels, and why would he ever want to be any other kid when he can be the kid who wants Philip?

The kid he’s always been.

The kid who’s still accepting it.

Which is easier said than done, he thinks, because after minutes on minutes of kissing-touching-whispering, Philip breaks the not-so-silent silence and asks, “Do you think you’ll ever . . . tell your dad? Like, for real?”

Put on the spot, with a light that’s too bright shining on him, Lukas falters.

Instead of shoving Philip away, like he usually does when he feels this exposed, he just grips his hand harder, feeling more grounded when their fingers fit together.

“I don’t know,” he sighs, heavily. “What if he doesn’t get it?”

How would he explain this? There just aren’t any words, not for anybody else, and what would happen if he did, and what would happen to _him?_

The look in Philip’s eyes is one of acceptance - and that hurts more than anything else.

“Will you ever tell anyone?”

Everything in him tugs back and forth. He wants to but then he doesn’t. So many reasons not to, even though he really doesn’t know what those reasons are. He’d just never be able to explain it, make it make sense, because the way he’s existed around Philip only makes sense to them.

Except -

Except it’s never felt wrong, or bad, or scary. The opposite, really.

Unexplainable things have always been a source of excitement and wonder. He’s always hoped so much for it to not be a plane or something man-made, but instead something unexplainable, like an undiscovered star or planet, another form of life in the sky.

So does this need an explanation when it’s just what it is?

Philip’s been smiling because of him since they were eight years old, and Lukas wants everyone to know, even though he can’t explain why.

“Maybe, but I don’t really know how to like, say it,” he admits, shy and quiet, the tips of his ears beginning to burn. “Could I start by trying to tell . . . you?”

The shade of Philip’s eyes switches from accepting to hopeful - Lukas’ favourite colour, the shade he wants to see everywhere.

He doesn’t think of the reason or the _why’s_ for once in his life, and instead just says the truth, whatever the truth is.

“You know you’re my best friend, Philip.” He rearranges the entanglement of their hands, fixes it so their pinkies are hooking together, then takes a deep breath in and promises, “But . . . I like you a lot more than that.”

Philip’s breath hitches for a moment, and then his smile widens, into something so bright Lukas almost confuses it with something from the sky.

“How weird,” he says, teasingly, and tugs at the collar of Lukas’ shirt until they’re eye to eye and nose to nose, pinkies still entwined and lips just barely brushing. “Me too.”

Lukas laughs into their next kiss, and then he almost can’t stop laughing, because -

It just feels completely . . . normal.

Why did he think this a disease, when painful and fatal is not something this could ever be? It’s confusing and all consuming, so much he’s dizzy, but unexplainable or not, feeling like this for Philip is exactly what he wants, and it’s exactly who he is.

And what could ever be weird about that?

**Author's Note:**

> Gonna be annoying: if you have a second please tweet @USA_Network about #Eyewitness and that #WeWantEyewitnessSeason2.
> 
> It's [here](https://lukalip.tumblr.com/post/156089590921/wouldnt-it-be-good-philiplukas) on tumblr now too! Please reblog to spread the word if you wish!


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